


Because the Night

by Stressedspidergirl



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Bathing/Washing, Cuddling & Snuggling, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Kiss, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Jealousy, M/M, Oral Sex, Sex, Touch-Starved, Touch-Starved Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-13
Updated: 2020-07-27
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:01:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 36
Words: 46,182
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22688911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stressedspidergirl/pseuds/Stressedspidergirl
Summary: Geralt gets used to Dandelion's casual touch. And it turns into more.This might end up a collection of drabbles and one offs. I'll try to update tags as I go. This also might include half written headcanons and AU's. There's no overarching plot, they're not connected. They're just tangential witcher ideas that don't fit into my fic I'm writing.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Comments: 203
Kudos: 564





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm p pro Geralt/Yen/Dandelion as a line. Geralt is the cream filling of that cookie sandwich. But this fic is more Geraskier.

The first time the troubadour touches him he bares his teeth automatically. He may not have turned his head, but it feels wrong. It's just a casual slap on the shoulder, he's seen other people do it, but all the same never to him. 

The second time it happens he still grimaces, baring his teeth but the sensation of wrongness fades just a little quicker. 

When he's used to the bard's touches enough it even ends in help bathing, his skin still crawls a little, but he feels all the emptier when it's over. 

Yennefer enters his life. She touches him without concern and without requiring any kind of payment. He doesn't know what to do. He knows when they make love he just wants it to be as good for her as it is for him. She doesn't touch him at random, however, and it's usually with purpose. Not that he feels used. If she wants to show he's her escort in the town she loops an arm through his. If she wants him to fuck her on the table they're standing by, the touches mean something else. Not that he minds. She always makes him feel good when she's touching him. 

They break apart and come together on loop, and he wanders when he chooses same as she does. 

The bard often enters into his life. They share a bedroll when it's cold. Geralt's whole body tingles and keeps him awake, not sure what to do with the way Dandelion curls into him without a second thought. He can't sleep with the other man pressed into him. He can't sleep when Dandelion strokes his hair a little, telling him that while the color is strange it's also kind of nice. Geralt watches the stars fade as Dandelion breathes next to him, occasionally twitching a little in his sleep.   
By the time Geralt thinks Dandelion can't be any stranger, the bard takes to kissing his cheek or running a hand over his back. He isn't sure why he shivers every time, especially when the bard's hand on his back threatens to go low and then doesn't. When they split ways as they do, he always feels emptier, and it takes a few days before he can settle into a solitary rhythm. 

.He oscillates between the enchantress and the troubadour, always feeling a little lost in the spaces between them. 

It makes very little sense to have a friend. Or a lover. At least for a hideous mutated Witcher with yellow eyes and catlike pupils, pale skin, and sharp features. He doesn't understand them. Or what they see, since they don't seem to want much. Dandelion just wants to sing songs about him. But they're to help his reputation. Make them both famous.   
Drunk together one night, the bard kisses him. He kisses back, surprised at how right that seems. Not sure what to expect he's certainly not prepared for the nimble fingers of the bard to undress him so quickly, or those soft lips and clever tongue to work their way down his body leaving a trail of desire in their wake. 

He hadn't thought it would be like that. He's been on the road for weeks and low on coin, to top it off. And while he'd been recently sleeping with another enchantress, someone who knew Yennefer, he's not so sure she wasn't sleeping with him to spite Yen. Although he and Yen were currently on the outs so perhaps not. 

"Bard," he mumbles, voice low in his throat with need. "You're drunk."

"As are you." 

"You wouldn't do this sober," Geralt says, pulling away in spite of how much he doesn't want to. He wants the bard to kiss him all over. To touch him all over. 

"No, I suspect you're right," Dandelion says, and Geralt's heart sinks. "I wouldn't be brave enough to risk you pushing me away."

"Hm?" He isn't sure what to do or what to say. He stares in the dim light of their campfire, witcher's eyes making it possible to take in every detail. 

"I have wanted to do this for years now, Geralt," he points out softly. Watches as the Witcher goggles at him, mouth agape and pupils blown. "I just know you don't much like being touched and I thought...well I've always felt you... I do it anyway because I want to. I just don't know if... I've always felt you didn't," the eloquent bard gives up unable to find words. "Fuck it all," he finally says, summing up the problem succinctly. 

"I..." His voice rasps in his throat, mouth dry. "I don't mind when ... Dandelion, I've grown accustomed... I like when... I didn't think you wanted, I thought it was the alcohol...No one... No one wants to be with a Witcher."

"You white haired lummox," the troubadour explodes. "For years I've wanted you! Yellow eyes and scars and all! I've wanted to put my hands all over you, and my mouth, too! I've always wanted to know what would make you want me, too," he adds at the end, voice dropping. 

"Then do it," Geralt says quietly, watching the flames dance over his bard. He leans back invitingly as he can. "Show me," he entreats, a slight hitch to his voice. 

Dandelion presses his mouth to Geralt's, kissing him slowly. There's no rush now, now that he has permission. He can savor every moment. He's wanted this so long. He works his way down the witcher's body, gentle and thorough. On his knees between the other man's legs he looks up at Geralt, meeting his eyes. His pupils are so large Dandelion can see them even in the meagre light of the fire. 

Geralt has found himself melting into the earth underneath them, Dandelion undoing him entirely with soft kisses and gentle strokes. Half afraid he'll move on accident and injure the man, he digs his heels into the ground so he has something to push against. Turns out that clever tongue of Dandelion's can do a lot more than make music. Although even with his mouth full he can't be quiet, apparently, Geralt notes. The humming does add something to it, he'd admit. 

Dandelion, for his part, enjoys every sound the witcher makes, every twitch of his muscles, the way his head tips back and he breathes heavily... He's rarely seen Geralt out of breath. On his knees he worships the witcher, body, mind, and soul. 

"Dandelion," Geralt mumbles, then with increasing insistence, "Dandelion," he repeats, hands digging into the ground. He doesn't want to accidentally hurt the bard. But if he could he'd have a hand tangled in his hair. 

The bard smiles against his skin, knowing full well what's coming. He can hear the hint of desperation in Geralt's voice. The way he's losing his head as he gets closer and closer. Dandelion eases back, not ready for it to be over, letting his hands roam, stroking and soothing. 

Geralt manages to lift his head in confusion when the bard notices him, looks up, smiles and drops his head again, making Geralt groan. He feels young and inexperienced all over again, barely able to control himself. He keeps himself as still as his trembling muscles will allow. 

When his breathing takes on a bit of a wheeze, and his heart pounds, he knows he can't hold out much longer and hopes Dandelion will end it rather than leave him hanging over the edge. Even if he's afraid this will never happen again. Dandelion will have gotten his fill of the monster, the mutant, and never touch him again. Curiosity satisfied. 

When the bard does something with his tongue Geralt loses any ability to think, and his back arches slightly. Reaching for Dandelion he grabs him by the shirt and drags him up, kissing him hard. He can taste himself, smell himself, all over the bard. He wraps himself around the other man, trying to put all of what he's feeling into his lips and tongue. 

Somehow, Dandelion seems to understand. They find the bedrolls and crawl in them together, heedless of the dirt and other mess. They fall asleep, Geralt clings to Dandelion, half afraid none of this will be true in the morning. 

When the sun wakes him, Geralt finds himself still in the troubadour's arms. Dandelion is stroking his hair. When he pulls away enough to look up, Dandelion smiles at him, cornflower blue eyes crinkling in amusement. "What, did you think you'd wake to find me gone?" 

Geralt shrugs. He remembers all that they said. "I want you, too," he tells Dandelion. His body shivering with memories of what had happened just a few hours before. He drops his head to the bard's chest, making a sound when the hair stroking resumes. "If you want, later... I'll prove it to you," he offers quietly. 

"That sounds nice," Dandelion tells him, humming to himself. "Not that you need to prove anything," he points out, reaching his other hand down low under the bedding. Eyes twinkling, he raises his head to look Geralt in the eyes. "Why don't you just show me?" He kisses the top of the witcher's head and settles himself back down. "But later, I'm quite enjoying this right now. I've waited too long to just hold you, to go and do something else just yet." 

Rather than reply, the Witcher just curls in closer.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a drabble. Wasn't sure if this needed its own spot. It's unrelated to the other post.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Geralt/Yen/Dandelion.   
> Just fluff. Little angst. Mostly fluff.

The Witcher groans softly as Dandelion washes his hair, nimble fingers kneading away tension as well as blood and filth. The bard smiles a little, pleased he can make Geralt feel good. 

"Duck under, I think I got all the muck out," he says, and Geralt obeys, rinsing out his hair. Blood and dirt mix in cloudy trails across the water. "Perhaps we should just dump you in a river. I'm not sure a tub can manage."

"Hm," Geralt mostly ignores him. It's good enough. For all perhaps the bard could be convinced to wash his hair one last time, it had felt so good. His head tilts as he listens, Yennefer is on her way back, he can hear her shoes on the boards of the hallway outside their rooms. Dandelion watches him and turns to the door as the enchantress lets herself in. 

She stops over by the tub, caressing Geralt's cheek and giving him a fond look when he closes his eyes in pleasure at the attention. "I think you missed some spots," she tells the bard, knowing full well Geralt wasn't entirely ready for the care to stop. 

"I did not!" He says indignantly. Then looks at Yennefer. "Well, perhaps I did. He's filthy you know. Or was." With a bit more soap in his hands, he starts at the crown of the witcher's head and works down into the base of his skull. He leans over enough to see that Geralt's eyes have lidded half over, clearly he's enjoying himself. It costs nothing to do something this simple for the other man. 

When the water starts to cool, he pronounces their witcher as clean as he's going to get. Geralt dries himself quickly, dragging on trousers and a shirt. Yennefer settles by him on the bed once he sits, finger combing out his hair gently. He leans into her touch as the bard settles at his side, gently trailing his hand up and down his back. It feels good. 

He starts awake some time later, regret filling him. No hands move on his body. He's still leaned against Yennefer, head on her shoulder. But he'd slept through them both touching him. Yen glances at him as he sits up, looking around blearily. She gives him a quick kiss on the cheek. "Lie down properly," she suggests, Dandelion had left them to sing and drum up and some extra coin. He obliges the sorceress, she never particularly asks him to do anything he would find unpleasant. For all he regrets it will put them further apart. He liked being near her. 

He starts awake some time later, regret filling him. No hands move on his body. He's still leaned against Yennefer, head on her shoulder. But he'd slept through them both touching him. Yen glances at him as he sits up, looking around blearily. She gives him a quick kiss on the cheek. "Lie down properly," she suggests, Dandelion had left them to sing and drum up and some extra coin. He obliges the sorceress, she never particularly asks him to do anything he would find unpleasant. For all he regrets it will put them further apart. He liked being near her. 

She picks up her book once he's not trapping her and then settles next to him on the bed. She idly smooths his hair one handed as she reads, book held by the other. The only sounds in the room are the crinkle of the pages turning and the occasional contented sigh.

When Dandelion gets back, tipsy and with a fat purse, he pushes Geralt aside some to make more room in the bed, kissing all over the witcher's face. Geralt grunts in surprise and an attempt at annoyance. He allows the bard to cover him in affection, glad Yennefer stays pressed to his other side, surrounding him with the comfort of their bodies. Not afraid of him. Not repulsed. Not trying to send him away. He finds himself kissing Dandelion back a fair bit, surprised all over again that kissing doesn't have to lead to fucking. Surprised anyone would kiss him to just kiss him with no payout. 

This isn't the first time. But he always expects it to be the last. Yen puts her book aside to join in the kissing. Part of her enjoys his confusion, and part of her wishes he believed he deserved it. Nuzzling him and kissing along his jaw and neck, whenever Dandelion frees up his mouth she takes over, one hand over his heart, bracing her body over his. Geralt resolves to stay awake as long as they're touching him, so he won't miss a minute of it. He never knows which minute will be the last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have like. Actual fic written but could use a beta. If anyone's interested in Ciri, her two dad's, and mom, in a semi canon compliant story. 
> 
> Either way hope you enjoyed the little addition to my collection of nonsense. :)


	3. Modern Day Herbalist AU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a modern day AU short of any real magic. I kind of developed it, but I don't usually write AU's.

imagine Geralt as an adult who goes to Yennefer’s herbalist shop for tea and breakfast every morning. Some herbal tea for his stomach and some stupid weird muffin (replacing witchers elixirs).

They talk sometimes. His musician boyfriend is only in town sometimes and plays in Yen’s shop here and there. He drives them both nuts but they like him okay.

Yen eventually finds out the reason Geralt has white hair before he’s 30 is because his mom owed debts and would submit him for medical trials as a kid to pay what she owed.

Some company called Vesemir or something he’s not too sure, just that bright lights hurt his eyes, and the color changes thanks to 1 trial. But he’s got extra good night vision.

His teeth are a little extra white and a little sharp. He’s not sure why, his skin is super pale but he doesn’t burn too easily so it could be worse. Although certain textures bother him because his sense of touch is stronger than usual. Not to mention his hearing is better than normal, too. But it’s wrecked his stomach and trying to get away once ended up breaking his leg and they couldn’t pay to fix it right. So clinical trials later it still bothers him years later, but he’s working on it.

He got away from her, and put himself through school on scholarship and graduated with a fairly useless degree but he’s been able to sue some of those drug companies for what they did. So he’s got some money. But he contract works in pest control when he’s bored and guest lectures on niche medieval history. Not to mention he took a bunch of random sword fighting, smithing, and fencing classes for fun and was very very competitive. He’s still good and occasionally teaches self defense class at a friend’s studio/gym that they also rent out to martial arts classes. In essence he has no steady job but plenty of work whenever he wants it and enough to live on fairly comfortably.

Which is good because sometimes he doesn’t much feel like moving because everything hurts.

He and Yen get close as time goes on. Geralt has full permission to fuck whomever he pleases when his boyfriend is out of town, since said boyfriend is gone for months at a time. He never intentionally hits on Yennefer. One day it’s raining and he walks her to his place because it’s closer and he doesn’t even make a move. She’s so surprised by it all.

Later she drops by his place again and musician boyfriend is there and she’s not surprised or hurt and tries to leave rather than third wheel it. But ends up invited to stay and they end up all piled up enjoying time together and talking turns to cuddling and cuddling turns to more. Yen and Jaskier don’t always get along when Geralt isn’t around but they tolerate each other when they’re together as a threesome because Geralt likes it so much. And they’re not used to him being so happy.

He doesn’t smile much or laugh much, but when they’re together he lights up a lot and so they play nice and tease gentler. When he’s not around they snipe at each other like usual. But Jaskier is happy to know Geralt has someone when he’s gone. Yen is happy to not have to be a couple at all times so she can live her life when she pleases and not be trapped the way she’s felt in the past.

So Yen loves the freedom she has because she’s not Geralt’s everything and Jaskier loves his freedom and so no one’s trapped. And if Geralt gets the itch to travel he can go with or without them. Or just go meet Jaskier somewhere he’s playing.

And eventually a scared girl shows up at Yen’s shop, she’s all of 12 or so and Geralt ends up rescuing her. Yen helps him get his foster care license and then he eventually adopts Ciri. Yen helps raise her and Jaskier does, too. They go to silly things like school events, and Ciri does talent shows and they go. And they attend parent teacher conferences and no one knows what the fuck to think because half the time Geralt shows up with Yen and the other half it’s with some musician Jaskier. They have no idea who he’s dating or what’s happening. And half of Ciri’s events all 3 of them are there and they’ve seen Geralt kiss both and hold hands with both. So there’s weird judgement about that. But Ciri is an amazing student and athlete and she’s happy and healthy so they can’t complain about her weird dad.

Ciri does great at science fairs. With her weird herbalist mom and ridiculous nerd dad. They live a happy life. And Geralt takes care of his horse Roach in the country and they move out there together and life is plenty happy.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a random idea that hit.   
> Again, still playing with the ideas that Geralt can sleep with both of them. Tiny drabble is tiny.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I kind of imagine this is before his and Dandelion's relationship changes into "more" than friends.

When he and Yennefer first come together, he's not sure life could be better. No one's touched him like this. No one's wanted to. Paid or not, this is different. She touches him like... He's still human. And he doesn't know what to do, or how to keep it, and then it's gone in a messy explosion of words. 

He moves on, like he always does. Empty, and tired, and wondering if maybe she was right and he should have wished to never become a monster. 

Bright sharp music breaks into his life. There's no fear anywhere there, no matter what he does to push the troubadour away. No amount of harsh words or snarls achieve anything. And so he does his best to enjoy it, wondering when it will fade away into the hills when the bard changes course. 

But, it doesn't. Not really. The course changes, and they break apart and come together, but it's as if the turning of the seasons rather than the breaking of the tide upon the rocks. And finally, the witcher allows himself to call the bard his friend. Openly and without hesitation. It's a word he tastes on his tongue repeatedly, rolling over the sounds, dissecting them before putting them together again. 'My friend.' 

He still dances with Yennefer. Stays with her, in her home as her lover. Tries to ignore the way people talk and wonder why she keeps him. As if he's being kept, rather than choosing to be there. As if he has no say at all in who he shares his bed with. To others, he's a fascination for her, a cheap bauble she'll get bored of and put aside. 

And then he's had enough of all of it, the crawling doubt that fills his mouth and throat like spiders that eat their way into his stomach, the fact she just doesn't care. She cares he's hurt by it, but she doesn't have ways to stop it or reassure him. And the world has done her so many wrongs who's to blame her if she doesn't know how to do any different in turn? 

In-between, and sometimes during, music fills his life. New stories of his "heroic deeds", the phrasing always makes him chuckle, fill the air around him. So starved for kind words and open companionship he doesn't try to chase the music away. He sacrifices to keep it, even if it's not always in his best interest. His life never had music before, who's to blame him for wanting it to stay?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kinda wondering if I should add more to this or leave it.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This idea was so much more, and involved Geralt trying to tell Dandelion some things, and not being quite able to, but the bard understanding his own song being quoted to him... un beta'd. Originally written on tumblr. If you can believe.

He hums softly to himself, listening to the birds chirp. The witcher breathes softly behind him. He turns, dew sliding off his face. Geralt's hair is sparkling in the dawn like fresh snow, and the bard's breath catches in his throat. He half hopes Geralt will open his eyes so he can see them in the dawn light, lit up with fire and warmth.

They should have put up a shelter to keep the damp off, but it's worth it to see the dew sparkling across Geralt's face and eyelids, making him seem like a creature of myth and legend, trapped in slumber until true love's kiss breaks the spell. He reaches out to touch the witcher's lips, touch the dew trapped between them, and at the corners.

Geralt breathes in deeper, eyelids slitting open just a hair. The first thing he sees is Dandelion's face, cornflower blue eyes staring at him. He wonders what the problem is this time, and lets his awareness fill in. The birds chirp, the air is chilly but the day will warm soon, and he's damp. Not that it's stopped his body from responding to a warm body nearby. This isn't the first time they've had that between them, and they've chosen to ignore it every time.

Until now, it seems. He cocks his head slightly and watches the bard. And actually takes a second to listen to what he's humming. Usually Geralt tunes him out. The noise is constant and it's too distracting if he doesn't block it out. Sometimes he listens. But he can't do it all the time. This time, he finds himself mouthing the words, 'as it rises in the morn', and gives the bard an annoyed look.

Dandelion licks his lips, and reaches out under the bedrolls to touch Geralt's leg lightly, fingertips just barely brushing the top of his thigh.

Geralt's breathing hitches, and he stares at Dandelion oddly. Unsure of what's happening, he's never had the bard encourage this. And he's never done it back. The featherlight touch is both a tease and a distraction. With no idea of what he should be doing, he just stares, lips slightly parted. "Dandelion," he says, voice barely above a whisper. He shivers when those clever fingers work their way to the inside of his thigh, barely touching, barely moving.

"Would it be so awful to try it?" He asks, head tilted.

Geralt just stares at him. Try what? He wants to ask. He licks the dew off his lips, eyes searching the other man's. What new nonsense is this? There was nothing wrong with their food or water, his witcher's medallion is warm against his skin, so there's no magic being used.

His breathing rasps in his throat a little, not sure what to say. “I-” he starts, staring at the bard’s lips. He licks his own again, tasting water and nothing more. Struggling to swallow, his mouth has gone dry. When those clever, seeking fingers move to trace him, up, down, and over before lightly touching his thigh again he forgets to breathe.

Geralt tries say something, or to smile. To do anything really that would encourage Dandelion to keep going. He finally manages to swallow, “bored of doing it yourself?”

“Aren’t you?” Dandelion asks, corner of his mouth tugging up into a grin. “Wouldn’t you rather someone else did it for you?” He sits up and shifts his body, straddling the Witcher. He doesn’t move much, but Geralt is fully aware the bard is in much the same mood he is.

“Never thought I’d see you so desperate, it’s only been a week or thereabouts.”

“Desperate? Desperate is switching hands.”

“Then what’s all this?” He asks roughly, deeply confused. The bard could have his choice of anyone. And they’re hardly more than a few days travel from another town. Plenty of women for Dandelion to seek out. Husbands to cuckold. The usual shameful nonsense.

“This seems like a pleasant diversion, does it not?”

Geralt just stares stupidly. A pleasant diversion with a witcher? Unlikely. He tries for some kind of smile. “Alright then, you win,” he shrugs, expecting the bard to laugh hysterically and get off him.

“Win what? A kiss, perhaps?” He leans forward and kisses Geralt on the mouth. The Witcher finds that his body knows what it wants even if his brain doesn’t, and one hand reaches up to cup the bard’s cheek and hold him there to kiss.

He groans softly when the bard grinds down on him, wondering how long he’s wanted to kiss Dandelion without knowing. He pulls away, letting his hand drop. There’s no way this is any kind of real. The man above him just be playing some kind of prank.

“Do you want me to stop?” Dandelion asks, almost concerned. “I thought you might want this…” His voice trails into the dawn.

“I shouldn’t want you to do anything you didn’t want,” Geralt says.

“A barrister’s reply if I ever heard one,” Dandelion laughs and kisses Geralt’s forehead. “Truly, do you want me to stop?”

“If you want to,” Geralt answers. No, he thinks.

“Geralt,” Dandelion slides off his lap, and ignores the soft choked sound he gets in response. “I wouldn’t mind going further. But I don’t wish to make you do anything you don’t want to.”

“Since when?” Geralt rasps, trying to recover from the sudden bereft feeling that overtakes him when Dandelion moves away.

“You never did much to deter me.”

“Nor have I ever encouraged you, either,” he mumbles, unsure if he should sit up or continue to lie there.

“I’m sorry then. I shan’t pester you with this again. I had just thought, perhaps…”

Deeply confused and concerned, Geralt wishes he could fix it. Years of being taught to ignore and suppress his feelings, being told he has none and those that he does are fake and don't matter... How's he supposed to cope with this? The hurt the bard is obviously feeling? "Dandelion, I don't understand," Geralt manages. It's true at least.

"Don't understand what? How to say yes or no based on what you want for yourself?"

"I don't... I do as I please," Geralt protests weakly. For all now he's realizing what he pleases involves kissing the bard. He's thankful his mutations prevent blushing. "I was mutated to kill monsters, and so I do. What more should I want?" His words feel like lies even to him.

"Is it truly so hard to say yes or no?"

"You aren't," Geralt points out. "You've avoided telling me what you want this whole time." He feels like a petulant child, but he still isn't sure how to fix the situation.

"I told you I wouldn't mind."

"Hardly a rousing endorsement for yourself. Not minding isn't the same as wanting."

Dandelion stares for a few minutes. Chews his lip and then sighs. "I would love to be with you. I want to kiss you again. But now I deeply fear you'd only kiss me to please me, and not for yourself. Since you apparently lack any opinion on the matter."

Geralt's throat burns and squeezes. "I am weak, my..." He can't work out the rest.

"Love, and I am wanting," Dandelion whispers to him, and leans in to kiss him gently.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know if I did justice what I went over in my head a bunch when I couldn't write it. I feel like I lost some. I don't know. Sorry if it wasn't fulfilling.


	6. Geralt & Yen canon compliant

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just another random drabble. As always I do have a full fic in progress that's sequential and a story. Feel free to check it out.  
> New chapter should go up this weekend. :)

What's the point of it all, Geralt sometimes wonders. Kill the monster, get the coins, get chased out of town or barely tolerated. Why do this forever? But it's what he was made for. And what he'll keep doing until he slows down and gets killed. 

Exhausted by it all, he doesn't expect to run into Yennefer. It seems to just happen sometimes, fate binding them together. Half wondering how this will go, he's pleasantly surprised it feels she missed him as much as he missed her. They still bicker about some things. They can't help it. 

But she tells him she loves him, and he believes her. He's not sure he should, but he wants to. Her heartbeat stays steady, and she touches him gently when she says it. He can almost pretend they're just a man and a woman, nothing more, nothing less. There's a kind of magic to it, all on its own. 

She's never been afraid of him. Never really treated him like an oddity. And she can't stand when he implies he's less than human. He is who and what he is, and she loves him. Even in spite of the parts of him she doesn't always like, she loves him. 

Of course he feels the same about her. The first time he tells her he expects her to make fun of him. Yennefer can be cold and callous, and she likes to keep her distance emotionally. He had expected her to rebuff him or cast him from her bed. Instead, she'd just said it back. And they'd made love again. 

He could never describe sex with her as anything else. He's fucked plenty of people. Had sex with others. But he makes love to her, and with her. She never stares at his scars, or looks away from his eyes. She likes the color of his hair just fine, and he can forget he's a witcher in her arms. 

They bicker, as they do. They split up, as they do. But at the end of it, they both always feel better and worse. Better for having been loved, worse for having lost it. 

He travels, and searches for monsters, until he's convinced he's one of the things he should be hunting. And when his soul is weak and weary, he seeks out the sorceress. And finds her. And in her he finds love, and humanity, and a will to keep going. 

He's not sure what she finds in him, other than comfort. But he knows she wouldn't say she loved him if she didn't. She wouldn't welcome him into her bed, and her life, if she didn't want to. Yennefer only tolerates what she wants to. He can't blame her. He knows some of what her life has been before Aretuza, before Yennefer of Vengerberg became a powerful sorceress. He'd rather she didn't speak false truths or tolerate things she'd rather not. Especially with him. It's how he's able to believe her, and relax with her. To let himself love her and be loved in turn. She'd never do anything she didn't want to. Especially for love. Or to play at it. 

And so they dance, two steps forward, one step back. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thoughts?


	7. The Seasons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I don't know what I was doing. It just popped into my head that Dandelion would see Geralt as the spring, not as a creature of darkness. It came out kinda poetic?

Geralt sees Yennefer as winter. Only the good parts of course.

She's the yule log in the hearth as they sit 'round and tell stories as the year ends.

Her anger is the crack of the ice before the avalanche, sharp and clean and cold

Her laughter is the icicles falling as the winter air warms, bringing spring in it's wake

Her smiles are soft and stubborn like the spring crocus fighting up from under the snow

She's beautiful like the fresh snow, glittering, cold, unknowable and perfect.

Her love is powerful like the roar of the hearth, consuming the logs completely in it's warmth and strength.

You might think Geralt is winter, a creature of dark and damp, hiding in the shadows. Cold and empty and bitter. 

But Dandelion knows he is the spring

His eyes might glow in the torchlight in the dark, but it's not the same as the spring sun lighting the dew on fresh leaves. That's the color of Geralt's eyes. The soft mist that melts away as the sun rises, turning the world gold. 

His hair is the last bits of snow that melt away into the swollen streams, his laughter deep and timid at the same time, like the new birds returning home

His smile is in the new flowers after the storm, so fragile but undeniably beautiful

His love is the gentle warmth of the spring breeze, tinged with chill and fog, but full of promise

Dandelion is the summer sun itself. His warmth and strength touches everyone around him

His voice is the calling of the birds, his smile the clouds across the sky, bright and white and intangible

His kisses are the wildflowers that cover the glades, plentiful and each perfect in its own way

The Witcher and the witch can't come near him without his sun touching their skin and leaving its mark in the form of freckles or darkened skin.

He stays with them even long after he's gone, lines around the edges of their clothes, and when he returns his love is as fierce and bright as ever.

He is the summer sun baking the fields, and calling their world back into order before the fall comes. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had so much fun with this. Sadly 98% of it washed down the drain of my shower along with my conditioner.  
> But I tried.
> 
> Also if you like my writing, check out my other fic. It's continuous and what have you. Vs all my drabbles. :}


	8. Rescue Scenario

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In my main fic, I have this idea for later (the road not taken here on ao3! lol shameless plug is shameless), but right now it's killing me. So here you get the cliff notes version. I need to get it out of my head before I lose it, but it's about 5 chapters away from being a thing and it's distracting me to no end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Implications of assault, torture, and potential references to rape. The outline ends pretty fluffy.

My brain is spinning with a rescue from torture scenario. It’s not a fun time but it ends well.

But my God guys. It will not shut off.

They find him in some Nilfgaardian dungeons covered in so much blood they’re not even sure it’s him. Or they wouldn’t be if Dandelion hadn’t snuck in as a guard and known for a fact it was Geralt.

They’re about to torture him some more when a sword comes thru a man’s eye socket and Dandelion immediately starts working to get Geralt untied./chained. Ciri wields death just like her papa taught her as Yennefer runs over to make sure they can move Geralt without killing him.

She helps break the chains and she portals them away before casting a spell that causes the whole damn castle to implode.

Geralt doesn’t recognize any of them to speak of, head injuries wrecking him. In and out of consciousness. Blood blinding his eyes. Which are mostly swollen shut anyway.

He’s aggressive and feral as much as possible, and it takes Yennefer several minutes to convince him they won’t hurt him and they won’t do anything provided he just lets them help until he has his memory back.

They get him cleaned up, even though it’s agonizing and takes all of them because he more or less breaks his promise to behave himself. Not that they blame him. It hurts to have his wounds cleaned and he’s out of his mind with pain. It’s been weeks. He’s held out in terms of not giving anyone any information.

When he can see somewhat and smell somewhat he knows Ciri is his. He’s docile for her, and they’re able to stitch and bind him up and she stays with him for the night. He can’t sleep he’s so on edge but he at least rests. He eats whatever she wants him to and if she’s out of the room he is supremely agitated and useless.

He can’t handle Dandelion because his only memory of him is as a guard in that room even tho it was only a few minutes and D helped rescue him. The correlation between the livery and pain is too strong.

Yennefer finally manages to get him to agree 100% to behave himself and in turn no one will hurt him or bother him at all. They’ll care for his wounds, and feed him, and he can see Ciri as much as he likes. But until he’s better he can’t go walking around and they won’t keep Ciri locked up with him like a prisoner.

He’s doing better, eventually. Yennefer takes him out to the stables. Roach was a gift from her. One of her mare’s filly. One she had trained for him and bred from a very nice stallion. He’s known that horse her whole life, unlike some other Roaches of the past.

Roach half knocks him down, headbutting him and lipping at his clothes and blowing snot on him in her excitement. He’s clinging to her, because he remembers the horse. Which means he remembers Yen.

She breaks down crying and he’s desperately upset, the only thing keeping him on his feet is an arm around Roach’s neck.

Dandelion is heartsick Geralt is afraid of him and can’t remember him. He’s been sick several times just thinking about some of what he saw and couldn’t stop. And seeing the new scars and wounds.

Yennefer has spent several nights with him trying to ease his guilt and pain. Just sitting with him, “he’ll remember you.”

Ciri finally goes to him, one night, when she hears his distress, leaving Geralt alone. She begs him to play her songs on his lute, and he does. His fingers hurt by the time he’s done, but somewhere after he’d started Ciri had told him to keep going. He’s blistered his fingertips on both hands, he’s not sure he’s ever played that long. But he trusts her. And he was right to.

As he finishes the last chorus of “toss a coin” he looks up to see Geralt has slipped inside the room, hobbling until he finds a place to sit and listen. Dandelion has no idea how long he’s been in the room, but he knows it’s the music that drew him and with his witcher’s hearing he’s heard all of it.

“Dandelion?” He asks, voice rough with emotion as the bard puts aside his lute and they collapse into each other’s arms.

Geralt is still flinchy and easily startled for a long time. His body heals. He still feels vague panic when he can’t see Ciri. He won’t let Yen or Dandelion touch him much, and he avoids kisses and other signs of affection. But he listens to the music, and whenever Dandelion plays he finds the room he’s in and listens.

He rides Roach daily to keep her exercised, even though it hurts his body all over. Brings her sugar cubes and apples and other treats.

He’s not in good shape yet. He starts to train with Ciri again, but he frequently drops his sword when they clash together, the sound being too much for him. Ciri finds wooden ones, ones that don’t sound like anything from the torture chambers, but she also wraps them in cloth to muffle them even more. They train with those, and she avoids striking him even when she should or would have in the past. He taps her a few times, hesitantly and afraid of inflicting pain. After each time she cries when she’s alone. He’s not himself. Yennefer had shown her dents in his skull, told her it was a miracle he was thick headed enough to survive and remember all that he did. Without being a drooling idiot or having a palsy. They just need to give him time to heal.

And he does improve. He eats and somewhat sleeps. Usually cat naps and usually only when Ciri is in his arms. His dreams are violent and wake him as often as not. Dandelion keeps playing and hoping Geralt will remember how much the bard loves him and how safe he is with him.

Yennefer leaves him alone outside of meal times. He doesn’t seek them out. She respects that even if it kills her. Finally, finally he asks her to go riding with him. The horse was a gift from her anyway. They ride for a bit, further than he usually goes alone. They have to stop because he’s too tired to just go back. There, he finally tries to tell her why. He doesn’t deserve it. He got caught. And they reminded him all over again how inhuman he is. How disgusting it is he’s mixed with monsters and animals and he’s a mutant. And they did it over and over again for weeks while torturing him.

Yennefer reads minds. She’s known why the whole time. She’s also known he deserved the time to process on his own. The right to process his own pain in his own time. And she holds him while he weeps, tears washing away some of the violence that was done to him, taking away some of its power.

She weeps, too, seeing her strong Witcher humbled so. Her only comfort is they didn’t win. They didn’t break him like they thought. He never gave up his daughter or his friends. He kept his mind intact, through all of it. He survived.

She kisses him, and holds him, and rubs his back to comfort him. All things he’s denied them, and himself, since they got him back. She reassures him of his humanity, over and over. While she knows the bard would be jealous to be left out, when Geralt starts to kiss her differently she responds in kind.

They make love, there in the grass, under the trees. Slow, gentle, and careful as she reminds him over and over how much he’s loved. He still aches, he’s still tired, and she does most of the work. Not that it feels like work. He’s been so afraid of being touched for so long. She isn’t ready for it to end, but end it does all the same. They mount up and go back.

Dandelion is thrilled Geralt has invited any of them anywhere. When he finds out from Yennefer later about the lovemaking he is slightly jealous but also so thankful Geralt is reaching out at all. Having been in that room watching those men torture his lover, he finds waiting a small price to pay for Geralt’s freedom. He can’t blame the Witcher for having trouble separating memories and feelings. Dandelion had been in that room and he hadn’t raised a hand to stop what was happening. In a way he is at fault. Even if he had sent up the alarm that brought Ciri and Yennefer to them. It wasn’t the same as stopping the beating or assault.

He’s playing again, a new song. His heart aches with the pain of it. He startles when he notices Geralt is inches from him. But he keeps playing, and singing, and finishes the song out.

“Is it about me?” Geralt asks softly.

“Yes,” Dandelion admits.

“I’m sorry,” Geralt whispers.

“Don’t be, it’s not that kind of song,” the bard reassures him before leaning over to gently kiss his temple. Only Geralt turns his head and their lips meet. Dandelion puts his lute aside and slides into Geralt’s lap. He knows his days of being inside the witcher are temporarily over. Or possibly permanently. There had been so much blood. He’s not sure Geralt is ready to be with him, and he doesn’t try to escalate beyond kissing.

Geralt seeks out more, and Dandelion lets him. But he makes the witcher set the pace. Geralt is the one in complete control of the situation. He has no problem with it never going past touching and kissing, he understands. But soon enough he’s got Geralt’s hands on his hips, guiding him into the rhythym needed. He works himself, following those scarred hands, up and down, as he nuzzles and kisses his partner.

After, they stay together, the bard doesn’t try to pull away. He can feel his partner shrink out of him, but he stays, still. This is the closest they’ve been since before Geralt was taken. And the weeks of healing had turned into months. He cherishes the intimacy and knows it might not happen again. Or take weeks. He chooses to heap praise on his lover in soft gentle words, reminding Geralt how human and wonderful he is. They stay like that for hours, until the bard’s voice is hoarse and the room is cold with no fire built up.

They separate and Geralt leaves on his own, the spell broken.

Dandelion grieves that Geralt wouldn’t stay the night but knows the odds had been small. He won’t even sleep beside Yennefer. Just Ciri. Although a few times they found him asleep in Roach’s stall, the mare standing guard over him. It had cause quite a panic those times, they’d been unable to find him and had gone to get their own horses in search of him… Just to find Roach still in her stall with her rider sleeping beneath her.

Dinner is quiet that night. Yennefer knows he’s been with Dandelion now, too. She knows the bard isn’t expecting a repeat of the night any time soon. Geralt isn’t oblivious to the odd sort of tension in the room. He’s just helpless to do anything about it. He remembers them both, now. Remembers Ciri. Remembers himself but he doesn’t feel right. Probably because he can’t sleep enough to get any rest. He feels perpetually frazzled and disoriented from exhaustion.

“I,” he clears his throat and falls silent when all eyes turn to him. Then he shakes his head.

“We know you’re tired,” Yen tells him. She won’t give him any potions for it. His nightmares are horrifying and frankly if he couldn’t wake up from them she has a feeling he’d never even try to sleep again.

“You slept better when it was all of us together,” Ciri reminds him. A log snaps in the fire and he’s half out of his seat, table knife in hand. “We had you, all of us, safe.” It’s how she sleeps best. Her mother at her back, father holding her. And her other father holding the first. The time with Geralt in Nilfgaard’s clutches had given her and the bard time to bond. And they had, deeply.

Geralt settles and nods, and attempts to pick at his food. He’d eaten well many days after his rescue, restoring his strength. But some days he can’t seem to bring himself to eat. At least he hasn’t turned to drink for comfort.

Exhausted to the point of frenetic energy he pushes his food away and gets up. He doesn’t particularly want to leave but he needs to move. Yennefer pushes her half finished meal aside and gets up to take his hands. He cringes from her, and she puts one of his hands on her waist and raises the other as she sets her hand on his shoulder.

“Do you remember how to dance?” She asks him.

“There’s no music.”

“I can set the count,” she tells him, ignoring the trembling in his limbs. “It’s an eight count. Five, six, seven, eight,” she starts, and keeps it up as they walk through the dance.

Dandelion had put aside his meal, unable to finish when Geralt had leapt up the first time. At the word music he’d run off to get his lute.

He starts to play and Ciri shakes her head. “Something lively, please.”

He shrugs and looks at Yennefer who smiles. She can manage. And if Geralt has to work to keep up, so be it. There’s some leaps and tosses in one of them, and while Geralt doesn’t try to pick Yen up, he’s not sure of himself, they do manage the jumps together. After a few reels he’s panting, and ready to stop.

“One more?” She asks, just to push him a little further into exhaustion. “Unless you can’t keep up?” She suggests with a slight pout. She knows how to draw out his stubborn nature.

“One more,” he agrees, leg aching.

The bard picks another fast one, and Geralt barely keeps up with the music. But he does, and Yennefer laughs when he twirls her as Ciri claps in time with the beat. The last few notes die on a final twirl and Yen loses her footing when Geralt staggers just a bit. They go down in a heap, and she laughs first. It startles him but he can’t help himself as he joins in.

Delighted, Ciri giggles, glad to see her family less miserable. Her response makes Dandelion laugh, too. Initially he’d felt bad for helping push Geralt that hard.

“I’m too tired to get up,” Geralt confesses to Yennefer when they’ve stopped laughing. It makes her chuckle a little, but she manages to untangle herself from him so she can help him get comfortable. There’s plush rugs over the flagstones, no reason he should get up. If he’ll sleep there, then so be it. She strokes his hair and settles against his chest. She’s never cared about following rules or decorum. She’s always gone her own way. And if that means sleeping on the floor of a dining hall, so be it.

Dandelion takes the cushions off a few of the chairs and passes her two, and Geralt raises his head to allow the placement of it as a pillow before he settles back down. He shifts a few times, then opens his eyes and looks at Dandelion and managed to twitch his hand. The bard understands and sets a cushion for himself before tucking his body against Geralt’s.

Yellow eyes roam around the room a few times before settling on Ciri. She smiles and snuggles her way in between sorceress and witcher. Geralt sleeps heavily through the night without stirring once.

When he wakes up, the room is slightly chilled, the fire dead in the hearth. The sun is up, he can hear the birds. His family is curled around him, and they all seem warm enough. He shifts a bit, working his way onto his side before he falls asleep again.

The second time he wakes up, Ciri is up, ransacking the leftovers from dinner to make breakfast. Yennefer is stroking his hair, most of it’s growing back fine. They had ripped chunks out with rough handling and brutally shaved the rest with total disregard for his scalp. Dandelion is awake and very gently stroking his chest.

He noticed when he woke up Geralt had curled his back away, pressing it into Yennefer. Perhaps Ciri earlier. He doesn’t know. It hurts a little Geralt doesn’t feel safe sleeping with his back to Dandelion’s chest. He would never do what those guards did. But he understands and lets the hurt pass. It’s not Geralt’s fault. He kisses the bridge of the witcher’s nose and gets up to restart the fire.

With Yen’s help he manages to get himself up and off the ground. He’s stiff from sleeping on the floor. He eats a relatively normal sized breakfast and seems a bit more like himself.

He goes through his usual routine, training with Ciri, riding Roach, and coming back to listen to Dandelion play his lute. Training goes better, and he knocks Ciri’s sword away and out of her grip twice. She’s still afraid to truly strike the same way he is, but at least he’s less afraid in general. His ride with Roach is better, too, he lets her have her head and she gallops them down forest paths and leaps over fallen longs with the joy of a spirited horse long unable to stretch her legs properly.

His heart sings after the ride, and he grooms her and checks her over before heading into the castle again. Some friend of Yennefer’s, a summer home they were allowed to use until summer when the family would want it back. But it’s safe and secure. Which is what matters. He also appreciates the bathing chambers and avails himself of them any day he’s feeling well enough to.

Clean and feeling almost like himself he finds Yennefer and Dandelion together in the same room, talking companionably. The bard plucks at his lute while they talk as Yen grinds herbs and measures out ingredients. Ciri has her own tasks, and is reading quietly away from them.

Something about him causes both bard and enchantress to turn their attention to him. He gives them an odd smile, one that barely lifts one side of his mouth. They leave Ciri to her reading and tumble into bed together in Dandelion’s room. Geralt feels almost a frantic need to get rid of their clothing, but they slow him down. Time and time again, when he seems agitated, they slow him. He clearly doesn’t want them to stop, and he’s clearly aware of what he does want or they would have both pulled away.

He keeps Yen at his back, any time they shift the arrangement they can feel the discomfort in him. The tension. She pushes him flat onto his back and snuggles to his side, lifting her chin and meeting Dandelion’s eyes to indicate he should do the same. So he does. They continue to touch and kiss, dragging it out until Geralt starts to relax. Their fingers and lips promise release, not pain. They’d never hurt him.

He isn’t sure how to work with them like he used to, especially with both of them using his arms as headrests. They’ve got him caught between them, and he had wanted to pleasure them, back. “He thinks he isn’t doing his share,” Yen mumbles eventually. “Geralt, we have all we want right here,” they’d joined hands as they stroked him. It had been somewhat odd but both of them well know how and where he likes to be touched and working in tandem was making it hard for him to think.

Dandelion grinds against Geralt’s hip a bit, testing the waters. There’s no negative reaction, and so he does that. There’d been times before when it had been too cold to undress and he’d worked himself against the witcher’s thigh. Geralt had done much the same, at the same time. It had been a bit awkward. They had intended to take turns but it had been incredibly difficult. All the same it had worked out just fine.

“Yen,” he pants softly.

“I’ll be alright,” she reassures him. She knows he’s close. He always likes it best when they come together, but it’s not going to happen this time. When his wave crests, she enjoys it through him.

“May I?” asks the bard softly, looking at her. He no longer needs to keep a hand on Geralt’s cock, so he has one free. This is new territory for both of them.

Yen shifts to allow it, curious enough. “You won’t be jealous will you?” She asks Geralt.

“No,” he tells them hoarsely. He’s very curious about what they might do. After years of dislike turning into tolerance and then friendship, he would like to see it be more.

She kisses Geralt, shuddering against the bard’s fingers. His hands are quite clever, she learns. She’d known Geralt was exceedingly fond of those fingers, but had felt it an exaggeration borne out of deep affection. She had been wrong. There was no exaggeration.

She climaxes hard, and perhaps more than once. Geralt clings to her, kissing her throughout. Dandelion had at some point, managed to work his body against Geralt’s to his own satisfaction.

“Perhaps I should have waited to take a bath,” he mumbles in mock dismay. He’s covered in the aftermath of their actions.

“I much prefer when you’re clean,” Yennefer says, kissing his chest. He huffs in contentment when Dandelion murmurs some kind of agreement.

Surprised and grateful to have Geralt most like himself, she strokes him all over, enjoying his skin under her fingertips. It had been too long since he’d felt safe with them. Or anyone. She reaches out to touch the bard, too, a few times. She’s surprised at how deep her affections for him run, now, too.

“You wore him out, love,” she tells Geralt quietly. The witcher grunts softly. His arm is still around the bard’s shoulders and he idly traces circles over the top of his arm.

Yennefer is the last to fall asleep, more because she’s tangled up with them and can’t escape without waking them than because she’s tired.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Geralt doesn't understand consent.  
> No noncon happens but it is mentioned.  
> Typed on mobile. Sorry about typos. No beta.

Geralt sighs deeply, unsure of what’s going on. He’s not too sure what the bard is up to now. It’s not as if he ever is. Dandelion has all sorts of odd notions he acts on without a second’s thought. That would be one of the things Geralt usually likes about the bard, it adds some variety to his life. Sometimes it’s quite inconvenient, like now, for instance. He has no idea what the bard wants from him, which is somewhat distressing. They’re sitting together by the fire, and the bard has put a hand on his thigh. Which makes his entire body tingle oddly. He looks at Dandelion again, then watches as the bard’s clever fingers trace circles on his leg, moving steadily inwards and upwards. He doesn’t feel much like asking, since the explanation will probably somehow be too long, too boring, and vaguely insulting. Probably because it’s something the bard would think he would understand without words, and find taxing to explain.   
He stops breathing when the bard’s hand reaches his groin, tracing around the crease of his hip and inwards. So this is the price he pays for their friendship, he wasn’t misunderstanding. Or this is all some kind of weird prank that the drunken bard is playing. For all Geralt is fairly sure he is sober. They hadn’t had much to drink at the tavern, and they’d chosen to move on without taking any ale with them. He isn’t sure that he wants to do this, but he also isn’t sure that he doesn’t. He’s never thought about it, if he’s being honest. Dandelion will fuck anything that moves, it’s true, but at the same time he fucks people, not monsters. Geralt usually has to pay for that kind of affection. Unsure of what to do to encourage or discourage the bard, he doesn’t know his own mind. Although, this would not be the first time he’s paid for something with his body. The first time he’s tolerated something he didn’t really want just to get something he needed.   
He has scars from things he didn’t want, mental and physical, but if he needed a potion, or a meal, or a bribe, all he had was his body. He’s given it in gladitorial ways and in sexual ways. Some people enjoy the feeling they get of dominating a monster, hurting one, in bed. There’s a sick pleasure they get out of it, and so to Geralt sex is mostly just a transaction. With Yennefer it was very different, and he’d never quite figured out why. She’d never really asked him to do anything he didn’t want to, or forced him into any situation, or hurt him, in the bedroom. There’d been a few odd places she wanted to have sex, but considering the orgasm had been worth the mild discomfort he really hadn’t minded. It wasn’t the same thing as being beaten, or injured during the bedding.   
When Dandelion starts stroking his cock, he freezes, and then the bard does, too, finally reading the discomfort in his companion.   
“I’m sorry,” he says, withdrawing his hand. “When you didn’t say anything before I just assumed you didn’t mind.” He lightly pats Geralt’s knee, feeling immensely guilty. “I misread the signs. I won’t do it again, nor ask you to do anything you don’t want.”  
Geralt shifts, and looks at the misery on his friend’s face, clear as day in the dim lighting. “It’s alright,” he leans down and kisses Dandelion. That’s what he wants, right? So that’s what Geralt has to do to keep him at his side, as his friend. It’s not that he doesn’t love the bard, if he’s being honest. It’s not as if he wouldn’t sleep with him. He’s been with men, at his own choice or not, depending on what he needed. He just can’t stand the thought of being used by his only friend. It makes his stomach twist and turn and he feels stupid for thinking this might be different. That their friendship might not be a transaction in disguise. But it is. He wonders what the bard is into, what will Dandelion want him to do? He strokes himself through his pants, trying to force an erection so that Dandelion won’t leave him. He has become used to companionship and isn’t ready to give it up. “We’ll do whatever you want,” he says, trying to be reassuring. That should be what the bard wants to hear, right? That’s what most people want to hear when he’s selling his favors for something. Whatever you want, however long you want, whatever way you want. As long as no permanent damage is caused.   
Dandelion pulls away, somewhat aghast. He can tell something is deeply wrong. The witcher remains visibly limp and his entire body is tense and guarded. Standing up and pulling back, he stares at Geralt. “No, I won’t do anything with you if it’s to be like that.” He sits down next to his friend, seeing the hurt there, and the confusion.   
“What do you want, then?” Geralt is utterly bewildered. He’d thought maybe he had found a true friend, but the touching had told him he was wrong. It wasn’t like that, it was about the novelty of fucking a witcher. “Wasn’t this your plan all along, to add another notch to your belt?” He tries to smile, tries to make light of how sick he’s feeling.   
“No, Geralt, it isn’t!” Dandelion stamps a foot and then sits close to Geralt. “I had thought we might share something, might want something more than just to travel together, and I was wrong, and that’s quite alright! What isn’t alright is you thinking I would ever sleep with you if you were unwilling!”   
“I’m not unwilling,” Geralt points out, feeling odd. “I like travelling with you,” he feels stupid having to spell it out. “If this is what you want of me, then I am happy to give it.”  
“No part of you seems willing or wanting. You won’t look at me, your cock is soft, and the rest of your body is tense and hard, if I didn’t know nothing scared you, I would assume you were terrified.” He reaches out to gently stroke Geralt’s hair, smoothing it back from his face. The witcher looks away, breath catching and he almost flinches.   
“I would rather give you want you want, and keep you here with me, than deny you and lose you,” Geralt whispers, the words wrenching themselves from his lips. He doesn’t understand what’s happening, but he knows he is going to lose his best friend if he doesn’t do something. “I have tricks for getting hard, I can do what you want me to, it isn’t difficult, Dandelion.”   
“That’s sick, Geralt. I could never touch you like that. Knowing you didn’t want it.”  
“For some, that’s what makes it exciting,” Geralt shrugs.   
Dandelion looks at him, eyes filling with tears. “Oh that’s horrid, Geralt. That’s truly horrid. You’ve been through that?”  
“Asking them to stop is what excites them most, is them knowing they don’t have to. I can heal from most things, Dandelion. And it’s not as if I have feelings. As long as my limbs are intact, and there’s no poison, I’ll be fine.”  
“Geralt,” the bard whispers, his voice breaking. “I am going to hug you. I know you won’t understand why, but I am going to do it anyway. ” And he does, he wraps his arms around the witcher, trying not to cry. “And as much as I love you, I think I will pass on anything more, because I can’t stand the thought you would see me like the others.”  
Geralt isn’t sure what to do about the hug, but it feels good, so he leans into it. It feels a little bit like safety, and it seems like at least his bard isn’t going to leave him immediately now. “When you change your mind, I will be here,” he says, feeling like he should.   
The bard chokes, and holds him tighter, feeling sick to his stomach. “It shouldn’t be like that, it should never be like that.”  
“Then what should it be?” He likes the hug, he isn’t sure he likes the dampness on his shoulder, but he thinks Dandelion might be crying. He can survive the tears, same as he could have survived the sex.   
“It should be fun, it should feel good. It should be about two, or more, people, who want to be together in the same way. They should all want it. It should be enthusiastic, it should be willing. Oh Geralt, it should feel amazing each and every time. Just thinking about it should make your cock hard and your soul sing.”  
“Is that why you can’t go more than a day without it?”  
“I can go several, Geralt. I, I can’t imagine… You see someone, you see them and you smile, and they smile back. And you know, you get that flutter low in your belly and you know that you could enjoy a night or two with them. You flirt a bit, you find that they’re quite lovely in their own way, and that they want you, too. And then you find a good place and you enjoy each other’s company. And kisses, and touches, and it’s whatever you two can think up together that feels so good it makes your heart beat a little too hard, and a little too fast, and it feels so good you can hardly stand it. That’s how it should be.”  
“That sounds different.” It was like that with Yennefer. He had wanted her. The smell of her, the way she breathed, the way he felt when he was with her. That had been good. That would be like what he thinks the bard is describing. When the bard kisses his cheek his cock twitches in response. He inhales deeply, enjoying the scent of the other man, and the closeness. He puts an arm around Dandelion’s waist, keeping him there. He feels brave enough to nuzzle him some, wanting to be closer. “You feel that every time, with every person?”  
“Well sometimes they’re quite disappointing in bed,” Dandelion shrugs. “But all the same the connection is there, and there’s some joy to be had.”   
Geralt shifts his grip on his friend and tugs him into his lap. The bard goes pliant and allows it, shifting to make them both more comfortable. Geralt sets his chin on Dandelion’s shoulder, and Dandelion wraps his legs around the witcher’s middle. He allows Geralt to nuzzle him, and strokes the snow-white hair with one hand, taking a moment to wipe his eyes with the other.   
“That sounds preferable to the other way.”  
“And what is the other way?”  
“You need something and so you give whatever they want to get it. Be it your mouth, cock, ass, or something altogether different.”  
“Altogether different? What’s left?”  
“Sometimes they want you to fight for them. A mercenary or a gladiator. Entertainment. To see a witcher fight a monster in the public eye. Or if you can kill so many men in the ring, you can have what you want.”   
“I can’t imagine picking that if you were offering up your ass, instead,” Dandelion says dryly, carding fingers through Geralt’s hair. The witcher seems to be enjoying it, he’s relaxed, and his eyelids flutter every time the bard lightly scratches at his scalp. Soon enough Geralt’s eyes are completely shut, only opening to slits when the bard stops. “Do you like this?”  
“Feels nice,” the witcher agrees sleepily.   
“Then I shall keep doing it until you’ve had enough.”   
“You might be there for days,” Geralt mumbles, forehead against the bard’s neck, cheek resting against his collarbone.   
“That would be alright with me,” Dandelion agrees. He keeps up the gentle stroking and Geralt heaves a contented sigh.   
“If sex with you is like this, you could have whatever part of me you wanted.”  
Dandelion shakes his head a little, the witcher still doesn’t understand. “I don’t want you like that. I don’t want to take you or touch you in ways you don’t want. Even if you think it would be better with me. There’s no point to it for me, if you aren’t enjoying it as much as I am. I can’t enjoy it at all if you aren’t willing.”  
“I am.”  
“Do you even know what you like in bed?”  
Geralt tenses some, and then relaxes when the hair stroking resumes. No, he doesn’t. Not especially. Yennefer was the only person who seemed to care much for what he might like. She had discovered many ways to touch him that made him whimper with pleasure, he saw stars every time with her. She never did anything that surprised him or caught him off guard. Never did anything to cause him pain. “I like not being tied up,” he shrugs. That seems nice, being safe and free. Able to protect himself if things seem like they might get ugly or truly unbearably painful. “I don’t like come on my face, or in my eyes.”  
“That’s not quite the same thing, is it?” Dandelion works some of the tense muscles in Geralt’s neck. “I like quite a few things. Ilike things I could show you, one day. I like watching my partner orgasm, I like when Iwork them so hard and so well they throw their heads back, lost in it all. I love when someone kisses their way down my chest, teasing me through my clothes for a bit before they put their mouth on my cock. I happen to love when they tease and circle me, too, until we’re both ready for more.”   
“I could do that,” Geralt points out.   
“I know. But it wouldn’t be the same as you enjoying yourself. Or doing it because it pleases you just as much as it pleases me.” He stretches a little, settling himself more comfortably. “For instance, I am stroking your hair because it pleases me that it pleases you. Not just because it pleases you. Does that make sense?”  
“Not at all,” Geralt kisses the side of Dandelion’s neck. He can’t imagine that is how it normally works. Or perhaps it does, among humans. But he isn’t human and as such isn’t subject to the same considerations. The bard shivers under his lips, and he finds he likes that, and so he does it again. The bard wriggling on his lap arouses him, even though Dandelion isn’t moving much, it’s enough.   
“Geralt, I am not willing to do more with you, when you don’t understand that this should be about you, too. This should be both of us, taking equal pleasure. And that doing it, or not doing it, has nothing to do with if I’ll travel with you or not. I will stay at your side as long is it suits us both. You shan’t lose me just because I don’t want your cock in me.”  
“You don’t?”  
“Not when you feel as if you have to. That’s not how I want you at all.”  
“Will you kiss me, at least?”  
“Why?”  
“It…” Geralt trails off, almost hurt. “I wanted…” He shrugs. “It doesn’t much matter, does it?”   
“It’s something you want?” Dandelion looks at him, pulling back to look at him. Something he wants for himself. “You truly want?”  
“I don’t have to,” he mumbles.   
“If you want me to kiss you, Geralt, I would love to kiss you,” and he presses his lips gently against the corner of Geralt’s mouth. He gently kisses his lips, chaste and soft. Geralt kisses him back, hesitant at first, almost as if he’s ashamed at how badly he wants it. He hadn’t thought about it before. But the way the bard talks about it, he wants all of it. He just doesn’t understand. He will learn to understand what it is Dandelion wants. So that he won’t leave. He will figure it all out. But for now, he will take the kisses and the hair strokes, and he will be glad to feel the bard hard against his stomach, a slight dampness soaking into his shirt.   
“What if I want to touch you?”  
“Not tonight,” Dandelion tells him between kisses. “Not just yet. I will stay with you, you will have time to decide if you still want us to do more.” He kisses along the witcher’s jaw, trying to see what he likes. Geralt shivers, and Dandelion lightly catches his earlobe, something else that makes him whimper. He happily kisses everywhere he can find above Geralt’s collar. He won’t do more or go lower. And Geralt’s aborted attempts to roll his hips are easily avoided by simpling putting his feet on the ground and lifting himself slightly out of the witcher’s lap.   



	10. Harvest Festival

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I kind of imagined this as one of various shifting points in their relationships. Going from harsh to slightly softer. 
> 
> Also sorry if it's out of order or something. I did it on mobile and pasted it over.
> 
> SO! If you want to see the full fleshed out version of this, check my page for the fic with the same name!!! A few people on tumblr asked, and ask and you shall receive

Geralt had had a miserable day. And night. He had needed something from the local sorcerer, Yen hadn't met him in town, and the monster had kicked his arse well and good. Sure, it was dead. But they'd cut his pay for taxes - he didn't even live in the kingdom, the bastards- and the sorcerer had given him something that made him feel wrong. 

It was like being drunk, and hungover, and on the wrong Witcher elixirs all at the same time and it was hell. Nothing felt real and he could barely walk. 

When he'd made it back to his small room at the inn, Dandelion had taken one look at him and called for some help. 

"Drink this, Geralt, c'mon. It's an emetic. There's a bucket here. You'll be fine." 

"Where's Yennefer?" 

"Not here yet, but no reason to think she won't be soon. Drink this, and then we'll get you cleaned up before she sees you. She won't like it if you stink of vomit and she'll be even angrier if she thinks you've come to her drunk off your arse." 

"I'm not drunk," he protests. 

"I know. Now drink it," the bard forcex the flacon to his lips and he obeyed, throat pulsing. It tasted horrible. 

"You trying to kill me, too?" He asked, utterly betrayed. 

"No, you idiot. I know you'll work the drug out of your system soon enough, but you've got drool all over your face, and your clothes are torn, so the sooner it's out of you, the better. Did you even find what you were looking for?" 

"Kicked my arse. But I killed it," he said, then bent over the bucket and vomited. 

Dandelion kindly held his hair back, and noticed blood soaking his clothes. "I'll call for a bath and we'll see what we can do. I have some things that should slow any bleeding, and your witch will be here soon. I don't know what you see in her. But she should be able to handle anything that's too much for what I've got. You wouldn't be on your feet if it was going to kill you. Oh, but the elixirs I suppose you might." 

Once Geralt's stomach was empty he felt marginally better. 

"It did indeed kick your arse. Look at all these scrapes and bruises. Nothing too serious, which is good. Now, I know how you hate mages. How did this visit go?" He asked as he guided Geralt's leg over the side of the tub, then braced him as he stepped the rest of the way in. A bit later and the bard had his saddle bag of medical supplies under his arm and Geralt's arm over his shoulders and helped the miserable Witcher limp down the stairs. He stripped Geralt down without preamble, unsurprised the most the Witcher did was cling to the side of the tub with his eyes closed and a miserable expression on his face. 

"Bastard told me I couldn't have it unless I paid. I didn't have enough coin because I hadn't killed the monster yet. And then, he said I could assist in an experiment instead. I don't remember much of it, but he made me drink something, and I felt ill. I don't know if he did anything else. Perhaps he just wanted to try and kill me?"

"Let me get your hair clean," the bard's voice was soothing for all he's seething in rage. He gently massaged the Witcher's scalp as he washed it, cleaning up his face and neck, too. "Looks like whatever it was made your face numb." There was some bruising at the corners of Geralt's mouth but it could easily be from him taking a blow to the face or landing on his face. He stroked Geralt's cheek for a moment, then finished helping him wash up. 

The door to bathing chambers slammed open and Yennefer strode in, black dress glittering in the dim torchhlight. She leaned over and gripped Geralt's chin in her hand, staring at his eyes. "Are you alright?" She asked.

"Am I?" He asked her dazedly. Then gave her an idiotic smile. Her gaze sharpened and she looked him over for signs of harm. Then kissed his forehead. "What happened?"

"No idea, he's still sauced on whatever they drugged him with."

"What did it smell like?"

"How should I know? I wasn't there." Gods how he can't stand her. 

"I can smell vomit, so he threw it up. What color, and what did it smell like?"

"Assuming the maid hasn't come, go find out for yourself," he snapped. 

"Yen," Geralt mumbled unhappily. 

"I'll be back. And I'll bring you a shirt." She glared at the bard and swept from the room. She was back within minutes, black shirt in hand. In her absence Geralt had managed to get rinsed off and was, with Dandelion's help, extracting himself from the tub. 

He looked over at her, clearly still unsteady on his feet as a result of the poisons. "You'd be dead if you were human," Yennefer told him in a flat voice. "I told the maid to burn the bucket and keep it well away from anyone or anything. Bury the ashes deep. He probably wanted to see what it would do to you. Don't worry," she stroked Geralt's cheek. "I will make him regret it." She looked him over, assessing his injuries. Nothing that needed magic. "I'll meet you in the room," she informed him and left Dandelion to patch up his hurts. 

"So kindly. So nurturing," the bard hissed under his breath. 

"She's kinder when you aren't around. She loathes you. Less so, but she does. And as horrid as you've been to her since you met I can't fault her." 

"Because she's wonderful to you?" 

"When it suits her," he admitted. Which was most of the time they were together until something went wrong. She had patched him up kindly more than once. Once the bard had finished bandaging him, they made their way back to the room. Geralt was unsurprised to see a tray of food waiting. Dandelion, however, was extremely surprised. 

Yennefer had taken over the small table and was coming out her hair. She'd put on a deep violet nightgown. Something just for Geralt. It was soft, and warm, and not especially meant to display her feminine attributes. He had given it to her, years ago, one particularly unpleasant winter because he had liked both the color and feel of the cloth. The slack smile on his face when he saw her made her smile in turn. "I had broth brought up for you, and some bread. It should help soak up the poison. I know you'll work through it anyway, but I thought this might help ease the discomfort." 

He nodded, and made it over to the tray to pick up the mug of broth. He was incredibly thirsty. The bread was soft on the inside, perfectly crisp on the outside, and still warm. She'd managed to get them to include some butter, which he remembered to add to his second helping of bread. "I had them bring you some meat and cheese," she told Dandelion, still vigorously combing her hair. "I didn't know if you'd eaten." 

The bard recognised a temporary truce when he saw one, and joined Geralt in eating. When the Witcher had stuffed himself, he stood there, just looking at Yennefer. 

"Go to bed, darling. I'll sit with you in a minute," she squeezed his hand and he nodded. She waited until he was in the bed and asleep before looking at the bard. "I will be leaving early in the morning, for a bit. And then I will be back. I think Geralt will sleep through it. I will know if you don't tell him I will be back in time for breakfast. And I will make it unpleasant for you for days." 

"I'll tell him."

"Good." Her hair brushed, she stood up and lightly prodded the witcher's ribs until he rolled over in the bed. "You presumably were planning on sharing the bed with him? I've been informed there's no more rooms due to the harvest festival. Stay on your side and I won't force you onto the floor." 

Dandelion lifted a brow but wisely stayed silent. He changed into something more comfortable than his doublet to sleep in and crawled into the bed. With his back pressed to Geralt's he could feel the Witcher curl around Yennefer in his sleep. A happy grumble or two later, and he was still again. Yennefer waited a moment more, and then with a twitch of her fingers the lights in the room went out. 


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tapped out real fast. Ciri and Yennefer are captured by Nilfgaard. Geralt goes in alone. 
> 
> Jaskier had fallen behind and catches up to find them. Or what's left of them.   
> (No one dies.)

Jaskier runs into the room and swears violently. There’s debris everywhere and no sign of Geralt, Ciri, or Yennefer. He’d seen those bastards in the black armor grab Ciri and Yennefer, but not Geralt. Which meant the witcher had followed behind. Surely he hadn’t wreaked all this havoc by himself. “Geraaaalt?!” 

“Is he alive?” A voice rises over the rubble just enough to be heard. 

“Yennefer?!” he half screams in relief. “Is who alive? What the fuck happened!? Where are you?” 

“We’re here,” she coughs weakly. He steps carefully over broken furniture and bits of the ceiling and walls until he sees her. Ciri is in her lap, pressed into her and unmoving.

“Is she alive?” 

“She’s fine. She can’t move right now, but she’s fine.” 

“Yen, you need to get up, we have to find Geralt,” then he looks at her. There’s dust and debris in her hair, and her leg is sticking out at an odd angle from her body. “Oh fuck, why the hell haven’t you healed yourself?” 

She holds up her wrist, showing a black bracelet with a lock on it. “Can’t use magic until you get this off me.” 

He notices that there’s blood coating her teeth and tongue, and running over the corners of her mouth. “Is...Is...” it occurs to him suddenly Ciri is holding Yennefer’s insides together and that’s why she can’t move. 

“Find Geralt, and if he can’t get up, bring me his sword and cut this off me. I can’t do anything to help any of us until it’s off.” 

“What is it?” 

“Dimeritium. Stop talking, and find him. Unless you’d like me to die here,” she says faintly. 

“Right, right. Geraaalt!” He starts picking his way around the debris, and realizes there are an awful lot of bodies. Some are cut up and some are just crushed. When he finally reaches the center of the room he finds the witcher. Geralt is still, half buried under rubble. “Oh gods, no, no, no, no,” he whispers, rushing over and checking for a pulse. It’s there, faint, but barely there. “Oh fuck, fucking fuck, where’s your sword?” he moans, the witcher doesn’t respond. Jaskier digs around a bit, sees a flash of metal and pulls the blade free. It’s relatively undented which surprises him. He runs over to Yennefer and looks at her helplessly. “What if I cut your hand off?” 

“Then I’ll use magic to put it back,” she spits blood. Then holds out her hand and places it against a piece of rubble, forcing the bracelet away from her wrist on one side. “Just aim for the part not touching my skin and we should be fine.” 

It takes him three tries to swing the blade with enough force to cut through it. He was so terrified of injuring her worse. When he manages to cut it off, he picks up the pieces and awkwardly runs a bit before flinging the metal as far away from them as he can. 

“Pull my leg straight.” 

“What? I can-” 

“Then I’ll do it myself, help me up. I can’t heal it till it’s straight.” 

“What the fuck happened Yennefer?” he asks, kneeling down on what he thinks used to be part of a chair to grip her calf. 

“They were going to hurt Ciri. Geralt burst in and started killing them. Until they started killing him. Then Ciri happened.” It’s succinct enough to tell the whole story without wasting words. “Pull, dammit, I need to get to him. The more time you waste the more chance he has to die!” 

Jaskier swallows, and yanks her leg straight. She screams high and loud, and then seconds later she’s standing. A bit shaky, clearly not feeling her best, and he can see the cut across the front of her dress. They’d cut through her straight across, and he has no idea how Ciri kept her alive long enough he could reach them. They’d left him with the horses, but he’d gotten antsy and come looking. He helps her navigate the mess and she kneels down next to Geralt. 

“His back is broken,” she cups his face in her hands, and breathes deeply. “Leg crushed, arm crushed, he’s got a collapsed lung, I don’t know if I have enough magic to fix this.” The three of them work the slabs of stone and solid oak off of him, and Jaskier swears at all the blood, wishing he’d come earlier. Perhaps he could have helped. “Ciri, I taught you to share magic, do you remember?” 

“Yes,” it’s the first time she spoken since he found them, and her voice is hoarse. 

“I taught you to keep control, and to keep enough you don’t kill yourself. If you die, he will not survive, do you understand? Don’t give me more than you can afford. Do you understand me Ciri?” 

“Yes, Madam Yennefer,” she croaks. 

“I love you, if you kill yourself I will never forgive you. And neither will Geralt. He’ll do something stupid like get himself killed just so he can join you. You have to stay alive.” 

“I promise, Mama.” 

“Good.” She holds her hands out over Geralt’s chest, then lightly touches him, as Ciri places her hands on her shoulders. Jaskier is hardly breathing, waiting as Yennefer works her magic. “I’m going to stabilize him so he won’t die if we move him, and we’ll get him to the Temple of Melitele. Nenneke’s patched him up hundreds of times, I suppose once more won’t hurt.” 

“And how do you intend to get us all there?” 

“Portal, we’ll portal through once I know moving him won’t make him bleed to death or permanently sever his spinal column. Shut up so I can concentrate!” she snarls. He falls silent and waits. It takes what feels like hours before Yennefer gets to her feet, swaying. 

“You can’t portal like this, you’ll kill us all!” he says horrified as she raises her hands. 

“I am strong enough,” she hisses at him. “Pick him up,” she snaps. He does because he can’t help it when she sounds like that, and carefully pulls the witcher over his shoulder. Ciri sways oddly, and clings to Yennefer, exhausted. 

“I’m sorry I hurt him, too,” she half whispers to Yennefer, who looks at her, unable to drop her hands because the portal is forming. 

“You saved us all,” she corrects gently. The portal opens, and Ciri helps Jaskier get Geralt through, Yennefer steps behind them. The black presses on them and they cling together, cold, and miserable until they’re through. Yennefer looks around, and is satisfied they are in Nenneke’s personal chambers. They’ll be found soon. Her eyes roll up into her head as blood leaks from her nose and ears and she faints. 

Jaskier watches her fall in horror, unable to catch her with Geralt taking up his arms. He carefully eases the witcher to the bed, and watches as Ciri sits down on the floor where she is, too tired to move again. Unable to do anything to help heal them, he does the only thing someone with a voice as loud as his can do to help which is to say, he screamed. That always brings people running.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments? Please?   
> Also if you wanted more of the last chapter, it's a separate fic now. Same title. :} So there's more because people asked for it. Check it out if you want.


	12. What Dreams Are Made of

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt has nightmares, Jaskier wants to know about them.

“Geralt? What do you dream about?” 

“What?” 

The witcher looks over at the bard from across the fire. It’s not an especially cold night, and the sky is wonderfully clear. 

“You heard me.” 

“Fucking,” he lies, hoping that will end the conversation right there.

“Doesn’t sound like fucking,” Jaskier points out. 

“You can hear dreams?” Geralt asks scathingly. 

“When the person having them makes as much noise as you do, yes, I can.” 

“I know your idea of fucking is a quick rut wherever you can get it, so I suppose you might not recognize the sound of a good lay, but I assure you that’s all it is.” 

Jaskier stares at him and realizes he’s going to get no where with this for the time being and sighs deeply. “I dream of so many things. A lot more than just fucking. I remember the lady, she was... incredible. And things that were less pleasant that make me glad I didn’t piss my pants while I was asleep.” 

“You’re human, you’re entitled,” Geralt shrugs, not sure how to stop this from continuing all night. Then again he’s learned to sleep through the bard’s incessant nattering. Unrolling his bedroll, he pulls off his boots and crawls in, swords within easy reach. 

He dreams of fire, and of the trials, and of being beaten, the bodies, sorting through corpses from a portal gone wrong, a kikimora breaking his ribs into his organs, fighting with Yennefer and watching her dissolve away, the bard being choked by the djinn, and wakes up sweating and panting lightly. 

“A good lay, huh? Is that why you beg and plead for it to stop?” Jaskier asks him softly. 

“Fuck off.” 

Per his contrary nature, Jaskier gets out of his bedroll and forces his way into Geralt’s. 

“This is what nightmares are made of,” Geralt bites off. 

“You sleep better when I’m close to you,” Jaskier points out, and gently smooths sweat soaked hair away from his face. “Besides, I’m freezing and it’s bollocks not to be close when it’s never upset you before.” 

Geralt rolls over, debating getting out of his bedroll and climbing into Jaskier’s, but he doesn’t. He allows the bard to press into his back and sighs heavily. Jaskier isn’t wrong on any count, he and Geralt have shared beds, bedrolls, and blankets more times than he can count. And he does have less nightmares when there’s a warm body nearby.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I guess mentally this tied into my idea for Chapter 11.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a snippet of an idea.

Geralt gets hit in the head so badly on a contract that on top of other fun severe brain trauma things, he has to relearn how to talk. 

His first full sentence, is of course to Jaskier. And it is 2 words. “Shut up!” 

Because, with Geralt even LESS chatty than usual, Jaskier is filling up all the space. Half to see if he can annoy Geralt into practicing talking, and half because he can’t abide the silence. He’s super pleased when it eventually pays off, even if no, he doesn’t shut up. 

\--

"Come on Geralt, come on, I know you've been working on speaking! I know you've been working on it because I heard Nenneke and Ciri discussing it. Spit it out man, tell me what it is you're trying to say!" Jaskier grins cheerfully, knowing full well Geralt's debating strangling him. The ceiling falling on him had caused some long term damage and he's still struggling to speak clearly. Or speak at all. The monosyllabic witcher had turned to mostly only communicating in a series of different-toned grunts and the occasional whining noise. He had recently mastered the short all important word 'no' which he used with great frequency. 

While Nenneke and her healers had managed to save his leg and arm, it had been miserable. Yennefer had been able to knit the bones before portalling them, keeping him alive, but she hadn't had the energy on her own to save herself, portal them, and heal Geralt entirely. She'd slept days after they'd arrived in Nenneke's chambers. Jaskier's screeching had brought several people running. Ciri had not wanted to talk to anyone for days, other than to sit morosely by Geralt's bedside and apologize to him, even if he was unconscious and therefore unable to hear her, much less accept her apology. 

Geralt's face contorts into a sneer, and he debates slapping the bard. Ciri hounds him daily, forcing him to repeat words after her in both Elder and Common. They read together, and he struggles to put the syllables and phonics together in the right order. She has infinite patience for the task, which almost makes him angry. It's not her fault any of this happened. "Sh-uuu-t up!" he manages to bite off, greatly pleased with himself, until he realizes Jaskier isn't going to listen anyway. 

"Ah! See! I knew you could manage!" The bard leans forward and kisses him on the lips and draws back with a huge smile. "Soon you'll be back to your talkative philosophizing self. I thought I might bring you some of those droll history books you liked so much, but I see Ciri already has. She even found you that miserable philosopher you like so much. Why can't you read poetry like a normal man?" he prattles, and Geralt again wonders if violence might be the answer to make the bard stop talking for five minutes. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some part of me wants to write this, too, but I already have like 2 WIPs no one's reading and the idea of adding more fills me with dread. Maybe I'll just write little bits of it? Or nothing at all. I don't know.


	14. Modern AU Idea

Modern AU where Geralt meets Yennefer while out walking with Ciri and their giant Pyrenees/mastiff mix Roach.

He's still a Witcher she's still a sorceress it's just all hidden. He wears colored contacts she pretends to.

He's, ha ha, a garbage man, so it's easier for him to dispose of monster corpses and he can work odds hours while still making good money to take care of Ciri.

He's one of those ppl who takes an extra little plastic grocery bag so he can pick up trash on their walk.

She stops to help for a few minutes, intrigued by her magical senses picking something up but she has no idea what. Also that dog is fucking huge.

Jaskier is Geralt's open relationship boyfriend and turns out he and Yen know and loathe each other.

So it's hilarious when she meets Geralt on a walk and they end up dating while Jaskier is travelling. He comes back to find them in bed together.

Geralt has told her he has a boyfriend. And that it's okay. Even shows her a text. But he has "dumbass from bar" as the name in his phone not Jaskier.

Hijinks ensue as everyone finds out they're all magical, Yen and Jask hate each other and Geralt continues to kill monsters while Ciri goes to school and loves her socially awkward Witcher dad.

\--

"Papa, hurry up!" Ciri calls, several yards ahead of him with Roach eagerly pulling at her leash. While the dog is well trained enough to not drag the girl over, there are things to sniff and it has been two days since her last long walk. 

"I'm coming, Ciri!" Geralt calls back impatiently, looking over what he thinks is a blood dotted burger wrapper. He was pretty sure something had decided to make this area its hunting grounds but he wasn't sure. He uses a plastic Target bag to pick it up and keep track of it, along with several other pieces of bloodied trash he'd found. Shaking his head, he sighs and jogs lightly to catch up to his daughter. She'd just started calling him 'papa' a week ago, and even then it was only when they were alone. Each time she did it, it made his eyes water a bit and he was always worried the contacts he wore to hide his eyes would fall out. Today, at least, he's got sunglasses on because the sky is bright and that's what normal humans do. They wear sunglasses. 

When he's caught up with her, she holds out her hand and he takes it, always surprised at how small her hand is in his. Roach immediately stops pulling quite so much and pretends to walk like the nicely trained dog she is. 

A woman comes jogging around the corner, and lets out a little startled cry when Roach springs in front of her. Geralt lunges forward to grab the dog by the collar while telling the dark haired woman "She's friendly! Just stupid!" 

"Well that's not an entirely nice thing to say about a dog," she pauses, pulling out one earbud with perfectly manicured fingernails. The polish is black with white tips, he notices. And she wears purple contacts. Or, she's the monster he's hunting. But she doesn't smell like a monster. Just like deodorant and sweat. Her dark hair is in a high ponytail and he finds himself staring a bit, like an idiot. "May I pet her?" She asks and Geralt realizes this is not the first time she's asked, especially with Ciri grinning at him and snickering. 

"Of course," he says numbly. Her face is a little angular, but she's stunning. Her workout outfit also draws him to the lines of her body and he knows he's being quite obvious but he can't help himself. Her black and white sports bra with matching running capris and shoes all draw attention to her curves and muscles. He swallows hard and looks away. 

"What's her name?" 

"Roach," Ciri tells her. 

"What kind of a name is that?" 

"I don't know that's Geralt's problem. He named her, not me." 

"You call your dad by his first name?" she asks, prying for information. There's something odd about the man and girl, and she can't quite put her finger on it. His white hair and beard gleam in the light, and he cuts a rather dashing figure, in his black henley and jeans. There's just something odd about him, and the girl. Those emerald eyes seem a little too bright to be real. 

"He's... he's my dad now," the girl says carefully. 

"Ah. I'm sorry to be rude. I"m Yennefer," she holds out her hand to first Ciri, who shakes it, and then Geralt. "Yes, you heard that right. Not Jennifer," she says with a tired tone. 

"And as Ciri already said, I'm Geralt. And that is Roach." He feels stupid. Ciri grins at him again. This beautiful woman is making him feel stupid. His medallion doesn't do anything against his chest, so he knows she isn't using magic. It doesn't mean she might not be the monster, just that she isn't doing anything right now. 

"Well, I don't want to run out of time for a shower after my run," she tells him. "Perhaps I'll see you around later?" 

"That would be amenable," he says, then feels even stupider. He's been alive so long that at times he forgets to talk in the common vernacular. 

"I suppose it shall. How shall I contact you? Just jog around corners and hope you appear with a giant dog and small girl?" 

"Oh. I, uh, my phone number," he tells her, feeling stupid as she holds up her cell and starts punching in his name and number. She smiles at him and Ciri before putting her earbud back in and jogging off. 

"Papa, you're staring at her ass," Ciri comments. "And you promised we'd take Roach to the park." 

"Right." He clears his throat, and doesn't even try to deny anything. He and Ciri had managed to form a relationship based on not lying to each other. She did what he said, when he said because he made no unreasonable demands of her, and she trusted him because he answered every question she had honestly. It had made him miserable on several occasions to explain things other children said at recess. If the mutations didn't prevent blushing he's fairly sure he would have died of it when she asked him what a 'cocksucker' was. At least she'd had the sense not to repeat it in class. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Never written a modern AU, don't know if I want to, but my brain let me have fun writing that snippet.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This ties into an idea I had that I'll try and post up here.   
> But in my head this witcher school (having only read the books) and with Geralt talking about Vesemir in a less than ideal manner here and there... I assume they got strapped a lot.   
> But I also imagine if you get a bunch of pre-teens and teens desperate for affection and care and also feed them a lot of crap while they're going thru puberty + the Changes... Anyway. Maybe I'll write some of it, maybe I won't, but here's some GeraltxJaskier

NSFW?

Sort of TW child abuse, but within canon for the books. Like. Spanking levels of abuse not severe trauma/beatings

When Geralt freezes up on him, Dandelion stops suddenly. "What's wrong?" He asks, concerned. The night had been going swimmingly. They'd been touching each other and rubbing on each other, and it had been lovely. And the minute the bard had gotten Geralt's cock into his hand the other man had frozen. "Did I hurt you?" He asks, looking Geralt over, maybe he'd pulled him a little too fast or too hard getting him out of his pants.

"What?" He asks, confused. "No, I'm fine, you're fine," he promises, pressing in to kiss his bard again. He'd wanted to kiss him for... Years now, it seemed.

"Geralt," Dandelion pulls back in consternation. "You froze up, what's wrong? Do you not want to do this?"

"You just sparked a memory, that's all," Geralt tells him in his usual gravelly voice.

"A bad one?" The bard pushes, setting his hands on his thighs and pulling farther away.

"No," Geralt sighs, deeply disappointed he'd managed to ruin this, too. "Just old. Just memories of my training."

"Your training involved a man giving you a hand job?"

"No!" Geralt snaps, then sees Dandelion's teasing him. "No, just lonely boys with no one else around. That's all."

"Ah. I see. So with no women around you all learned on each other," he says slowly. "I don't see why that made you freeze up. It was voluntary right?"

"Of course," Geralt snorts derisively. "But see, Witchers aren't supposed to have feelings or needs as such. Much less share hands when you're sick of your own. We all got caught and our hides tanned so bad none of us sat easily for weeks." He winces a bit at the thought.

"Because you were all male?" The bard pushes.

"No. Because we weren't focused and we shouldn't have been feeling like we needed someone else to begin with. Lonely is a feeling. And we were supposed to bury them until The Changes and the Trials completely burned them out of us."

"So will this," Dandelion gestures between them, "bring up bad memories?"

"I wasn't ... No. No it won't. And if it does, we'll just make new, better ones," Geralt tells him, even if he's fairly sure he's saying it more for his own benefit.

"Is the mood ruined for you? Because I would still gladly love to touch you without your pants in my way," Dandelion tells him. "But if it's ruined, I'll understand."

"No," Geralt tells him, pulling him close again to kiss him eagerly.

"Oh good, because you see, I had thought maybe, perhaps that it-"

"It will be if you don't stop blathering," Geralt points out with a wry grin.

"It's just that how can I not? You're wonderful. Your cock is wonderful. I'm wonderful. The weather is wonderful-" he falls silent when Geralt pulls him into another kiss and palms him through his pants.


	16. Theme Park Prompt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got asked for a theme park situation, and so here's both parts of that prompt together in 1.

"It's so hot," Jaskier complained in the car for what Geralt was sure was the millionth time.

"I know," he managed, looking in the rearview mirror to check on Ciri. She'd fallen asleep in her car seat. Well, booster seat now. She was soon going to be able to sit in the car without any kind of seat. She'd been begging to go to the water park for months now, and typically she gave up on things fairly quickly or forgot about them. This had been incessant. He wasn't so sure what he'd do at a water park other than think about how many people were peeing in said water, but if Ciri was having fun it would be worth it. Yennefer planned to meet them at the hotel after, telling Geralt she'd get them checked in and then take Ciri for round 2. Then day three they would go as a group.

"How long of a drive did you say it was, again?"

"Can't you just go to sleep like Ciri?" Geralt asks irritably. "We're almost there. The AC is up all the way, be quiet."

"You won't let me change the radio station," the musician whines. "This is so boring, love, why can't we change it?"

Geralt sighs deeply. One of his few pleasures in driving is listening to BBC news or NPR. They were currently doing an interesting historical series based on ice age era animals and he wanted to listen. Yen could probably pull it up for him on her laptop when he had a chance to talk to her at the hotel.

Another few hours of Jaskier's whining passes, and he knows it's just how long drives with the other man go. He gets somewhat carsick and instead of just taking Dramamine and sleeping, he complains. Whatever prevents his car from being covered in vomit is worth it.

Tired, he pulls into the parking lot and gets out of the car, stretching gratefully. He twists his back a little, gratified to hear it crack and pop and feel the release in his lower back.

"Oh, remind me to give you a good rubdown tonight," Jaskier looks at him sympathetically. "That sounds horrid, love."

Geralt grunts in response and pops the trunk to grab what theyll need at the park. The rest can stay until they go to the hotel. Slinging the backpack over his shoulder he opens the rear door to wake Ciri up. She had been ecstatic, laughing and crying almost when he'd shown her the tickets.

Kissing her temple, he sees her eyes slide open slowly. "We're here," he tells her gently. Her eyes open quickly after that and she unclips her seatbelt eagerly, squealing and hugging him around the neck before slipping out of the car and tugging his hand. He closed the door, locked it, and sighed deeply when she started rattling off all the rides she wanted to go on.

"Save some for tomorrow," he tells her, hoping he can convince her to take the highest rides with Yennefer and not him. It's not that he fears heights so much as he has a healthy respect for them. She holds her hand out until Jaskier takes it, and they walk to the gates.

@mindless-inspiration

This hit me last night at 3am but I was desperately trying to sleep.

-

Geralt clung tightly to the metal poles of the ride, gritting his teeth. Ciri was in front of him, and he was holding onto her with his thighs. She had one hand on the metal bar and one hand on his wrist on the other side. Because she had promised him she would hang on. He knows otherwise she would trust her legs and him to keep her in the horrible little plastic log.

Every click as the log ratchets higher sets his teeth on edge and he tries not to run the numbers on all the bacteria in the water that has splashed into the ride, and will splash on them at the bottom. Jaskier is down below, safe, holding onto Ciri's various souvenirs. They had been trading off rides and unfortunately this was Geralt's turn.

When they reach the apex and the log stops he feels a moment of relief and fear. What if it's stuck? Then they don't have to hit the pool at the bottom. Ciri is vibrating with anticipation and he realizes she's developing a taste for rollercoasters. Then, a final horrible metallic sound later, the log tips and they're in free fall. It's really not that he minds the drop. Or heights. It's just, why do it for fun?

He clenches his teeth so hard he thinks he might crack them and Ciri whoops with joy as they fall until they crash into the water with a giant splash and slide forward until they hit the little station where you get out.

"Again!" She demands, acting much younger than she is.

"There's a line. But maybe tomorrow Yennefer and Jaskier can take you again. Let's do a different one next."

Jaskier dutifully holds out a wet wipe to Geralt and smiles ruefully as the man quickly wipes all the water off his face, neck, and arms before doing the same to Ciri. It's not that he's especially germaphobic so much as he just doesn't like not feeling clean.

"I'll take the next one, and when we come back for the water slides after lunch I'll go with her on all of them," he kisses Geralt's cheek. He knows Geralt would be fine. He's handled much worse. But why should he have to?

"Are you sure?"

"For you, love? Always."

Ciri is dancing in impatience and after another quick kiss he takes her hand and lets her drag him down the path to the next ride. Geralt follows behind, the backpack and souvenirs now in his possession.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you, too, would like to submit prompts & have a tumblr, you can hmu at stressedspidergirlsfandomblog.   
> Or I think you can prob request stuff in the comments right?


	17. Musical Prompt

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor tumblr user wanted a High School Musical AU. I was horrendously socially unpopular in school and have never seen it and at this point I don't want to? I don't know if I'd enjoy it after years of hype.   
> Then they suggested a twilight AU, and I didn't read or watch that, either. So I just went with what if Jaskier was in a musical?

@yourshadow18

Asked for high school musical Jaskier but I haven't ever seen it. So have theatre kid and very stressed out stage manager Geralt.

-

Sometimes Geralt wondered how he got roped into doing anything with theatre. But he knew why. His stupid best friend had badgered him into it. He'd never taken a class, but he'd been recommended to the teacher as organized and capable of taking good notes.... And so here he was. He'd noted the blocking for each scene. He knew the music by heart, even if he resented it. He had the ability to hear if the pitch was right or not without any help. He knew who went where, when, why, and even understood the themes of the script better than some of the actors. Who were ridiculously dramatic. As of course they were. If he'd known he was signing up to deal with over 20 people just as obnoxious as Jaskier he would never have agreed to this.

Jaskier on the other hand, was in his element. He had wanted to do Beauty and the Beast since he first saw the film and deeply resented he couldn't replace the cartoon beast and sweep Belle off her feet. She deserved better. His parents took him to the Broadway version and he fell in love. This was his time. And while usually the range for Beast was lower than a tenor, he didn't need to be mic'd and he was a fantastic singer with a huge range and so he'd gotten the part. He had driven Geralt insane from that moment forward since the stage manager they'd had before quit because of a family crisis. "We'll be together after school! And weekends! And you're my best friend! Who else would I want to share my dream musical with?!"

Geralt had sighed, the long suffering sigh he was so fond of, and gone to the teacher to submit his "application." His sports season was over anyway, so it wasn't as if he has anything better to do. He deeply hated track but liked the field part. But not enough apparently, since he'd given it up for Jaskier. He missed the javelin though.

"That's not the line!" He called out, rumbling in irritation. "If you can't get it right we'll have to cut it!" He informed Cogsworth. "Or give it to Lumiere."

He returned the obscene gesture he received from the idiot in the clock costume and rubbed his forehead. Why did he agree to this?

By the time they're about to wrap rehearsal for the evening, it's time for Beast's solo. 'If I can't love her'. If Geralt's being honest it's maybe his favorite part of the musical. Mostly because Jaskier does such a haunting job singing it, he can almost feel the heartbreak like it was real. "Let power be done, with me," Jaskier sang, his powerful voice filling the auditorium. Geralt always found himself staring like a slack jawed idiot by the end of this. He forgets the other boy can project so much power and vocal control.

When the stage is cleared and costumes put away, he handed Jaskier his backpack and they head out to Geralt's car. It's a battered black Civic and he had no idea he'd been humming the opening to the song the entire time they'd walked through the halls to the parking lot.

Jaskier smiled at him. "Is there something you want to tell me?" He asked in a teasing voice.

"You were very loud."

"Oh thank you, but I don't think that's it. Why else are you humming my big solo?"

Geralt flushed immediately. "It got stuck in my head. No one else was projecting loudly enough I could hear them over the tracks."

"Long ago I should have seen/all the things I could have been/careless and unthinking I moved onward/ no pain could be deeper/no life could be cheaper/no point anymore/if I can't love him/ " Jaskier sang quietly.

"Her," Geralt corrected absently. "If I can't love her."

"No, my idiot Beast, I know what I sang."

Geralt stared at him, keyfob in hand. Unsure of what to do he stood there, frozen.

"I'm sorry, I just thought... I thought when you were humming it. I misunderstood. Ah. I can walk the block home you don't have to drive me."

Geralt grabbed him by the front of the shirt and dragged him into a kiss. It was short, and a little rough, but he hadn't known what else to do. "If I can't love him, then who?" Geralt managed to mumble to Jaskier. His friend smiled hugely and wrapped him in a tight hug, pushing him back against his car and kissing him properly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will write ficlet prompts for comments *holds sign*


	18. Kisses by firelight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> first kiss scenario.

Geralt stared morosely at the fire. He could easily see Roach picketed a few feet away, and was glad she seemed to have found plenty of grazing within reach of her line. Snapping twigs with scarred hands, he tossed little bits into the flame and watched them spark and disappear. The bard had decided to stay in town for a liason. Or a tryst. Or whatever word you wanted to use that made damn sure the bard hadn't wanted to stay with Geralt.

The town had been less than friendly and it had been weeks since he'd slept in a bed. Perhaps he should have sought a tryst of his own or paid a whore for a few hours of company just to not be sleeping on the ground by the fire. The hostility he'd faced ultimately had made those options not worth the risk. And so here he was. Alone with his horse. Less than pleased with not even having fresh food, he didn't feel much like eating travel rations. Perhaps the bard would bring something. If he came at all. They split up sometimes. It wasn't like the bard intended to follow him to the ends of the Earth.

His sensitive hearing picked up the snapping of twigs and mumbling and he saw Roach's ears flick back. Someone was coming. Perhaps they intended to try and kill him. It had happened before.

"Fuck! Geralt, there you are! Why the hell did you have to walk so far from town? Took me ages to find you. You could have left a trail sign for me, but no. You're lucky I know your habits by now!" The bard flounced over dramatically and sat at his side.

"How was it?" He asked in his driest tone.

"How was what?"

"The lay you stayed behind for."

"What? Oh, love, don't be stupid," the bard flapped a hand in disgust. "I resupplied us, you really can be thick when you want to, can't you? Haven't you noticed I haven't been leaving your bed?"

"You aren't in my bed," the Witcher pointed out. Maybe physically they sleep near each other but they aren't bedding each other.

"Well that's hardly my fault is it?"

Unsure of what to say, as he often was, Geralt remained silent.

"Well it's not my fault you're too stupid to see what's in front of you," Jaskier pushed, seeing an opening.

"I am getting very tired of you telling me how stupid I am," Geralt told him softly. He was sick of everyone telling him he was stupid and a monster. Not as educated, not as good. As if he hadn't attended lectures at Oxenfurt or hadn't been brought to the temple of Melitele as a child to learn his letters. Bastards. Or maybe he was stupid. Cabbage-headed moron of a Witcher.

Jaskier looked over and saw he'd deeply hurt his taciturn companion and sighed. He'd expected Geralt to push back, not show he was hurting. Although he knows the statement was meant to sound threatening it had just sounded heartsick. Once he'd set the bag down he dropped himself to his knees in front of Geralt, reaching out to cup his face. The man flinched, but Jaskier was slow and patient and waited until Geralt relaxed before setting his palms against skin. "I love you," he said simply, realizing the Witcher was never going to get the message through subtlety. He wouldn't believe any of the hints or leads the bard dropped. He hated himself too much.

Geralt stared in shock, he hadn't expected that. Not at all. Confused, he didn't know what to do.

"And I suspect you love me, too. And so since I know you won't make the first move, I am going to. I am going to kiss you unless you tell me not to, and I'm going to kiss you whenever I please in the future unless you tell me not to. Because I think you want this as much as I do. And if I'm wrong, I won't do it again and I won't leave unless you want me to, but I won't ever ask again or try again. I'll respect that." He waited a beat to see if Geralt would protest, and when he didn't, he leaned in to kiss the man softly.

Geralt moaned, and was immediately embarrassed. Of course he'd wanted this. When the bard's thumb brushed over his lower lip, asking him to open, he did. Jaskier deepened the kiss and it was everything Geralt had ever wanted from him. He'd been so jealous for so many years. And now, it was his. Until the bard inevitably got bored and moved on. But until then, these soft kisses, those clever hands, they were his to enjoy.

What surprised him most over the years was that bard never did seem to get tired of him. He wished he could understand why, or when the tide would change. But it never did.


	19. Zoom Meeting Nonsense

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Having now had like a million of these meetings, and having to lead some of them, etc, here you go.

Yennefer has turned her personal office into an imitation of her lecture hall room. She has all sorts of ambience as she's teaching her history of botany and historical medicine lectures etc. Plants, candles, the works.

Geralt uses the garage because it's safe from his pestering boyfriend and girlfriend. Plus when Jaskier is being Professor Julian he gets his loud lecture voice on and it drives Geralt crazy with his sensitive hearing. He lectures all about weird zoology and medieval history. He has more fun with it in some ways because he's able to show them some things he's made using traditional methodology.

Professor Lettenhoove, who they all call Julian or Professor Julian (friends call him by his stage name.) lectures nice and loud. He's very dramatic and plays all sorts of music for them. He manages to rope Professor Rivia in to talk about medieval music and instruments and even shows something he made that for Professor Julian.

Students speculate about how he got Rivia to show up in his house during social distancing.

They also wonder what the hell Madam Yennefer is doing making coffee in the background of one of his sessions, too. They knew their professor is married. But they hadn't expected his home to be filled with so many plants. All sorts of plants, big small, and it looks cozy. He's told them about his sound proofed garage that his partner made him so he could practice without disrupting him. He never once genders his partner ever.

But they love that he has so much energy and he's telling them about all this stuff.

The students enjoy when Professor Rivia shows them his tiny forge he built himself, and the small armory he's made. Then he teaches them how to make things using old methods and they have a test over it. Geralt had no idea how many students screencapped or giffed him making a sword.

Jaskier is delighted by the little videos of his hot hubby smelting steel. Yennefer loves it, too. Geralt has no idea why anyone finds it all that interesting. He just gets embarrassed when Yennefer explains it's his abs. And his ass. And his arms. She pulls him from the kitchen to show him her appreciation for his musculature in their bedroom.

Jaskier is stuck teaching his class or he would be joining them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone who just got like 5 email alerts in less than 5 minutes because I'm updating all this from my tumblr, I'm sorry. For those of you who read this later without that happening, please feel bad for the people who subscribed they're probably so annoyed rn.


	20. AU Post Canon Idea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So like mild book spoilers I guess but the legend is all that the Witcher will come back from (Avalon) the land of apple trees if he's ever needed.
> 
> So imagine, modern day is happening. Let's say the Continent was Europe. Wherever you want. Imagine that Dandelion is reincarnated. Ciri can hop time and place, so she could just show up. And in the books Yen is with Geralt already.

So imagine Dandelion showing them around (Ciri has already visited) and they do things like treat Geralt to all sorts of foods and experiences and it's just mind blowing.

Yennefer laughing when they try ice cream for the first time. Geralt being shocked to see people of all genders showing PDA. But not like at a party, people just smooching on a street corner.

Finding out with super senses that sour candy is truly horrible - to Ciri's delight and endless laughter.

Fried food.

Modern plumbing.

Electricity and libraries that anyone can access. Doctors who treat everyone. (Well. It's a magical scenario so we can pretend right?)

Like they can't even be mad they were pulled out of the Summerlands for this because so much stuff is neat.

Geralt losing his mind at an action film fight scene not being realistic. Driving Dandelion up the wall with his articulate and complete explanation of why that would literally never happen.

Holding hands in public. Lil cheek kisses and things. Excitement to try new foods. Being the history/philosophy nerd he is, spending hours at the library reading and catching up.

Of course, hunting monsters.

Zoos. Geralt talks about how he's heard of zebras but never seen one,(book canon) so imagine Dandelion taking him to the zoo and he just loses his mind. The petting area cracks him up because it's lame farm animals. And he's like no thanks.

The little ocean petting area is neat bc most of his ocean experiences include monsters. And while the octopus watching them in it's tank is freaky AF the little pettable sharks are pretty cool.

Just imagine them all having a nice day together, and living in a cozy flat or small home that has enough space. And Ciri pranking Geralt a lot with him basically going "that sounds wrong but I don't know enough about it to dispute it."

Imagine them all going to a monster movie or watching a show like Buffy and Geralt thinking it's a comedy because that's not how monsters work at all.

Or a horror film and he's just disgusted by all the fake blood and mistaken details and cannot stop complaining: If she had just gone right. Or picked up the knife. that blood splatter is ridiculous. People like this shit?

And modern Dandelion of course goes by Jaskier or Julian depending on how well he knows people. He plays his lute sometimes, his guitar others, his keyboard others. He's working on a doctorate at uni where he student teaches and loves it. He also routinely has small gigs with some friends all around town. In summer he travels more and plays in other areas.

Yennefer still dresses like Yennefer but in a modern vibe.

Geralt (book) still wears all black but he is very attached to soft shirts and jeans with plenty of give for range of motion. He likes hoodies, too, thinking of plenty of miserable winters spent freezing his ass off. He still wears his gloves a lot, and is weird about strangers touching him. He's still Geralt but he's very excited about nature documentaries and gets livid about history ones talking about aliens building things he saw built. Or people desecrating graves.

"you want monsters? Curses? This is how you unleash curses Dandelion!"

"We know, Geralt, we know." *Patpat*

*angry/indignant spluttering*

He deeply enjoys modern medicine when he gets sick for the first time. Other than the taste which leaves him spitting and wondering if Ciri is fucking with him again. She isn't, but she did so film it for the views. She adapts fine to modern life, having shown up before. She still goes back to her own timeline and place here and there but overall stays with her family.

Geralt's other favorite invention might be the washing machine and dryer. Since he keeps getting his clothes dirty hunting down monsters "just couldn't leave the graves alone they said. Might have artifacts they said. Fucking idiots" he no longer has to rinse them in streams and put them on wet, he can come home, strip, dump them into the washer on the setting that rinses extra, and then take a shower. Come back, put them in the dryer and have them warm and in his hands again in less than an hour.

Yennefer doesn't wear a lot of clothes that can go in the machine but she appreciates how pleased Geralt is about it all. And if she's being honest on chilly nights she puts their blankets in the dryer before bed so it'll be warmer.

Dandelion feels more at home with them around. He's happier. His students notice his hulking boyfriend coming to visit and bringing his daughter. She's super hot but has a really bad scar on one side of her face that twists her mouth a little so she keeps her hair over it. Any time Geralt or Dandelion see someone staring at her they mean mug the shit out of them.

The students are deeply confused when they catch their student teacher making out with his boyfriend but later see said boyfriend come in with a dark haired woman he holds hands with and kisses a lot. Speculation runs rampant and so do rumors.

It upsets the status quo even more when Yen comes alone once and they hug and touch and kiss some, and a few students see it. A few smart ones figure it out and some hate her and some hate Geralt because they can't figure out who's cheating on who.

End of year some brave soul asks which one he's dating and he's like ??? Both??? (Even if Geralt is usually the buffer between them bc he gets far less annoyed about the little things when people think aliens built Kaer Morhen. Fucking stupid! - so he doesn't much care whose coffee cup got left out. It's not his, it's too bitter. And there's pills with just as much stimulant so why drink something that tastes so bad?)

Also please imagine them trying to explain to Geralt why he can't wear athletic wear 24/7. Like no you cannot wear sweat pants at all times. No you can't wear skin tight underarmour I don't care about your range of movement people are staring at you. You wear this to work out in. no, you cannot wear tight pants made for running out and about especially without a jock strap c'mon man.

Please wear jeans and a normal t-shirt.

Also can I just say: therapists now exist.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is nothing anyone could do to convince me that Geralt would not love athletic wear. I can see him being super stoked about Kevlar, and working on adding to his defensive gear over said spandex based clothes. But the moisture wicking alone? I feel like he'd lose his damn mind.   
> The range of movement, sweat wicking technology, the fact there's winter/summer so you can trap heat or lose heat? I imagine outside of fancy events or dates no one would be able to pry him out of his sweatpants or running pants. 
> 
> Also if there's any "Firsts" for Geralt to experience in modern day you'd like me to expand on or write ficlet for, let me know. I really liked this idea because it's still just them. Other than Dandelion. I got kind of inspired from starting to watch sleepy hollow and when Ichabod chugs an energy drink and almost dies on the spot I was like oh man Geralt would be like 'what the FUCK was that' so.


	21. Tears

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just one of the 9000 scenarios in my head about Jaskier/Dandelion seeing Geralt cry.

Geralt shifted away from the bard, he'd been awake and frozen after, for what felt like hours. He hadn't dared move until he was truly sure the man was asleep.

Tears ran over his cheeks and he slowly eased himself completely out of the bedroll. His hands shook as he pushed his hair out of his face, straightening sweat tangled locks. He'd done this before, hundreds of times across the length of his lifespan, it had never made him feel like this before.

He clenched his jaw so hard he was afraid he'd crack his teeth, but it was imperative he not make a sound to disturb Jaskier. The bard would think he'd done something wrong and Geralt absolutely did not want that. He didn't want to risk just hours before having been a fluke. A one time thing. He couldn't stand the thought a mistake on his part would take this all away from him.

So absorbed in his own fears he didnt notice when Jaskier sat up and hesitantly padded over to him. "Geralt, love, what's wrong?" He asked gently. Reaching out, he lightly clasped the witcher's shoulder and turned him. "Oh, gods above, are you hurt?" He asked before realizing what a stupid question that was. Pain didn't make Geralt cry. At least not physical pain. Did he regret their night together?

"No," Geralt said roughly, with a shake of his head. How could he ever explain that he had never felt like that before? No one had ever made him feel like that and he knows Jaskier. He knows it's a few times and then it's over. So he has, maybe a week or two at most of this and then the bard moves in. And he won't ever feel that way again. How could he ever explain it?

Unsurprised the Witcher isn't talking, Jaskier slowly and cautiously eased him into a hug, idly running a hand over his back. His fingers didn't pause over the scars, he knew them all already. And Geralt didn't like when people fussed over them anyway, didn't like being reminded of lives lost from monsters he was too late to stop in time. Monsters that had been killing for decades and no one had said anything. And human monsters who had etched their hatred into his skin, leaving him with the reminders that he could never stop it all.

"Are you regretting what we did?" Jaskier asked carefully, knowing Geralt would help him understand if he could give him the words. It's not the witcher's fault he doesn't know how to voice the emotions he has. Not after years of training telling him to suppress them and ignore them. How could he voice them when half the time he's still pretending he doesn't have them?

"No," the Witcher answered. "It was good," he added softly, a beat later.

"So you're alright, and you don't regret it. Would you want to do it again, later?" He'd keep digging until he understood.

"Yes."

"So, to be clear, nothing negative about the fact we made love?"

"Correct," Geralt nodded, unable to stop the tears. Or the trembling of his body. "It won't stop," he pleaded. He needed Jaskier to help him understand and to make it stop. He can't remember having cried. Not since he was very small. Vesemir had no tolerance for tears or displays of emotions.

"Well, no. It doesn't just stop on command usually," the bard kissed Geralt gently on the cheek. "I find I can't stop until I've sussed out why I'm upset to begin with. Then I feel better after. If I just try and stop it I end up feeling worse."

"Will we do this again?" Geralt asked softly.

"As much as we both please."

"And how long will it please you?"

"As long as it pleases you, and I, together. Or until we hit that rhythm again, I can't exactly help but- that's not what you meant. Geralt, what are you really asking?"

The Witcher looked away and shook his head. It didn't matter. Why ask the bard to change? He hadn't in the two decades they'd been friends. Why would the monstrous Witcher be a reason to change?

"I hate that look. It's the one you get when you're thinking badly of yourself. Your brow wrinkles up and you look like you've sucked a lemon. Something is bothering you badly. Enough to make you cry," he shifted his grip to allow him to stroke Geralt's hair. "I can say I will not be making love to you again until we sort this out. No matter how much I love you."

Geralt froze in place. Love. He started to cry in earnest. How many people had heard that same line only to be abandoned a few days to a few weeks later? Oh, if only he could have that forever.

Unable to read minds, the bard's natural impatience urges him to speak or press or make some kind of noise. And he doesn't. Geralt needs the time. It had always been hard for Jaskier to give it. To allow Geralt to process in his own time. He'd learned his lesson on the mountain. And so he did his best to sit quietly and give Geralt his time.

"How long?" Geralt finally asked, between near hopeless sobs.

"How long, what, love?"

"How long until you love someone else?"

"Oh, oh. Oh, Geralt, no. Oh, my love, no. Oh it won't be like that, this isn't like that. We aren't, oh Geralt, I've waited over twenty years...oh I'm so sorry," Jaskier felt his own eyes well with tears. "I was fond of them all. I didn't know what I wanted, I didn't know who pleased me. Geralt, you...I love you. I didn't realize at first. I knew I was infatuated," he pulled Geralt in close, allowing him to cry out the fear and anxiety. "I won't abandon you, Geralt. I won't cast you aside. It won't be like that. I have loved you too long to let you go so easily."


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mix of fic/thoughts about writing a fic about Geralt's "teen" years.

But from the book canon, (I have never played the games or watched any game content other than the dress up scene) Eskel is the 1 witcher Geralt calls his friend. I am going to reread the first book again, I think that’s when Ciri’s at Kaer Morhen and that’ll give me an idea of personalities again a bit. 

But Vesemir is the guy who beats two children with a strap for playing with a bug. Not hurting the bug, mind you. (Like, seriously a stern talking to is what was warranted here.) He’s also the guy who trains them to stay alive but reminds them not to be heroic or good or think of themselves as anything more than mercenaries more or less. And then also rarely tells stories. Little witchers falling asleep trembling with pain also like stories. 

Like the bastard convinces Geralt that he gave him the name Geralt, and Visenna tells him that’s not true. Considering she tells him almost nothing else, and ditches him yet again with 0 resolution the only thing I believe about her is that she did pick his name. Which means that some heavy brainwashing was going on. I dunno. Geralt talks about Vesemir as being like his father, but he certainly seems to have 0 affection for the dude and the second he gets a shot to talk to his 1 living parent he goes off the deep end. So. 

But I’m kind of imagining this platonic sort of friends with benefits thing between Geralt and Eskel. We know they’re not infants when they’re dropped off, so they’ve got personalities of their own and don’t think of themselves as family. I thiiink Coen and Lambert are from a different “crop” if you will. But scared baby Geralt and Eskel holding hands and falling asleep together. 

Talking to each other at night even tho there’s a risk of another beating. Comforting each other through the changes. 

Experiencing the misery that is puberty together. (how comprehensive is witcher sex ed? like. Do we know? Do they know about STD’s? They have vaccines more or less… like, they should know right?) but the misery of what a girl might be like who could see past the monster they’re being turned into. Or just how many coins they’re going to earn so they can buy all the whores they want. 

Awkwardly learning about their bodies and not having anyone else to talk to or share with and not learning to be embarrassed about everything. 

Having almost 0 physical boundaries in the sense that they will invade each other’s space, manhandle each other, and wrestle around like puppies. If one is injured the other has no issue yanking off clothes to find it, or just dragging the limb in question away from the body to examine it. That kind of thing. 

That physical bond with each other being all they have that keeps them sane as the boys around them die screaming. Eskel holding Geralt’s hair as he vomits after watching one boy’s eyes liquefy in his skull when the changes don’t take. 

Geralt helping set a broken bone in Eskel’s arm after he falls off the pendulum again. Learning how to place stitches by practicing on each other’s wounds. 

At least until the bastards manage to convince Geralt he’s now a monster with 0 feeling and he does everything in his power to pretend that they’re right and cuts himself off from everyone and everything. 

And then… maybe older, they run into each other again and maybe Geralt’s had some run ins with Yen, or he’s finally met Dandelion, and he’s learned to let himself feel a bit again. And there’s some comfort there in being close to someone he grew up with. Maybe Dandelion’s around and insanely jealous at how casual and comfortable Geralt is with this person who picked him up in a bear hug. Who is sitting with him at the table, one leg over one of Geralt’s as he grips his shoulder and leans in as they talk. They’re laughing together, and for once Geralt has someone around he isn’t afraid of, or ashamed to be near. Not even a little bit. No, there’s no romance there, there’s some mild amusement at the stupid things they did together. But Eskel won’t mock him for his interest in things, it helped him study enough to survive his training and get less punishments. Eskel doesn’t always maybe understand Geralt’s weird enjoyment of university lectures or history books etc, but he doesn’t pretend Geralt’s too stupid to understand it. Might tease him about it, but won’t insult him. 

The bard has never seen him with his guard down, never see him talk to someone he isn’t afraid is going to hurt him. Maybe he realizes how often his ‘teasing’ is actually just hitting sore spots that the witcher tries to hide. 

Geralt gripping Eskel’s face as he looks over the new scars, calloused fingertips tracing them with a wince. Eskel looking over the bite in his neck with the same familiarity. When the innkeeper gets nasty with Geralt they both just leave. It’s easier and they can keep each other warm enough. 

Staying up late by the fire, talking about the monsters, the scars, showing each other like little badges of secret shame, where they’d failed just a bit. Been a bit too slow. Made a mistake. But instead of judgement or mockery it’s just acceptance. They’re still alive so they did fine. And perhaps Geralt had other friendships but the boys didn’t survive. Having a friend is what kept him human throughout. 

Curling up together for security and warmth, and then when they part ways they’re both a little lighter. As long as the other is alive it’s going to be okay. There will always be someone there who understands. 

Just like thinking about more of a book Dandelion take where he accidentally tends to shit all over Geralt's interests even when the poor bastard is just reading a book in a room the bard wasn't even in ... But like twisting it so it's more like he keeps trying to get Geralt to engage in academic debate but he doesn't get it and just shuts down. So twist the canon some.

But like Eskel running into him and knowing that Geralt wants Dandelion so badly but is also deeply afraid of that. For one. The bard loses interest after he fucks the person a few times. So there's no hope of any kind of future. Maybe a few weeks? If he can be interesting enough?

But two: the bard also seems to think he's kind of an idiot and mostly cares about his Witcher stuff and not anything he wants to actually talk about. (because of the miscommunication thing going on.)

Eskel is just like ??? My God if he's so awful what is the draw?

And Geralt's just like, he's not afraid of me. He's kind to me overall. He mostly treats me like a person. When I'm hurt he helps me, he's never left me to die. He's entertaining. He makes things feel less bleak. I don't have to sneak around Oxenfurt when I go, I can just attend lectures as I please if he's in town. People accept me better. His hands are gentle...

And so Eskel kind of makes it his mission to drive Dandelion insane for the few days he and Geralt are travelling in the same direction. Since he and Geralt grew up together and were very physical, he maintains that. Constantly in Geralt's space, etc.

Maybe he points out the bard occasionally makes Geralt feel stupid and lacking and he's horrified because he was just trying to keep a conversation happening. But Geralt never talks to him about anything. And so that cultural disconnect is solved. Also consider Eskel vaguely threatening him like, you want him too but he isn't a toy to discard once you've fucked the shine off. And again, cue horrified Dandelion. So Eskel again points out his constant sleeping around everywhere all the time would be off-putting to most people who just want 1 partner.

So. While Geralt gets some time with a friend he can relax around, and some much needed safe physical attention (oxytocin right?), and loads of casual affection so D gets to see another side of him, it opens things up for them. Helps them be better friends before they take it further.

Just imagine them sitting together, Dandelion thinking it's romantic and burning with jealousy. Geralt's pressed into Eskel's chest, Eskel's chin on his shoulder, arms around his middle. One leg on either side and Geralt has one leg tossed over one of Eskel's so they're practically entwined. They're talking quietly, so silently only those with enhanced hearing would pick it up. Something they learned in the keep. And they're actually talking about Geralt's feelings for dandelion. Eskel knows the bard is losing his shit and typical Geralt is oblivious because he has a feeling the bard really isn't that interested in him it's a curiosity thing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I might actually write some of this out as a mix of flashbacks, and then present day, back and forth. And then post it separately as it's own thing. If you're interested, let me know.   
> But this is like, literally what keeps me awake at night, and has for a week and a half now, so clearly outlining it isn't getting it out of my system.


	23. Strangers Like Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I was initially word vomiting ideas and then just started writing.
> 
> now an actual fic -Tell Me It's Okay

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as usual, unbeta'd.  
> TWs for child abuse, neglect, emotional abuse, sexual abuse, (not the main characters with each other tho), and generally canon compliant that are discarded and ignored that I can't let go of.

Kaer Morhen is a place that little boys go to die, if they’re lucky, or they become witchers.

(In some ways, Strangers Like Me is what fucking ran thru my head literally all night last night. I wrote nothing, I could not sleep, and my brain SPIRALED all over this)

And somehow, despite the world beating him down and beating him down and beating him down and shelling him out over and over, he runs into an idiot bard who has no fear of him. Who slowly goes from thinking he’s a simpleton to realizing there is a man in there, a boiling seething lake of feelings and anger overtopped by a thick layer of ice. And the bard makes it his life’s mission to help him learn that he is human. (the whole fic idea is more Geraskier, but it has to START the development elsewhere)

he also bumps sorceress who teaches him love and anger and all sorts of other things -fancy table manners, philosophy etc. He has access to things with her he’d never have had in the keep. She teaches him how to eat chicken on the bone with a fork and knife (book canon), and all the other fancy utensils because he’s a person dammit and he should know that his napkin goes in his lap. He devours her books, and since she can read minds she can draw out the conversations from him. She teaches him how to have those conversations and those debates.

TWs for all the canon compliant fucking misery that is Geralt’s life. Child abuse, neglect, assault, etc.

Geralt is incapable of believing good about himself, or expressing himself normally or knowing what to do in social situations. He mimics, he copies, he attempts to replicate, but if the situation changes he isn’t sure what to do.

Trauma gives us 4 options. Fight, flight, freeze, or fawn. He knows how to fight, but sometimes it leads him to battles he’ll never win. Flight is usually safest. Freeze can also work well, but he doesn’t know how to fawn, no one’s praised him enough or taught him how to give praise or fake affection in turn. Usually, he chooses to freeze until he can assess better. If there’s no blades drawn, it is time to freeze.

( I am looking at this purely from a child abuse perspective)

He has no idea what to make of Yennefer. She is rage, and greed, and feelings, and luxury. She teaches him to fight back. She teaches him you can be angry and people will not always leave you. Some children/adults will do anything to please someone in hopes of affection until they feel safe, and they begin to test boundaries. And with Yennefer, he’s allowed. Neither one of them knows how to process emotions in a healthy way, not really. But if she wants to throw a jam jar at the wall -not at him, never at him. She doesn’t want to hurt him. She’s just angry and has to break something. Better the jar than herself. Or him. He learns to stomp and yell right back, to knock things off the dresser or desk. Maybe it’s not a good lesson, but it’s something.

She teaches him choice in bed. He’s never had choice in bed, he’s never made love. He has had sex. Voluntary, involuntary. Me for her, let the girl go, use me instead. He heals. He always heals. He can kill them if he wants to, but that raises more problems than it solves. Kaer Morhen has no women. He learns very little about making love there, either, feelings are forbidden. However, he learns to keep himself silent and still as his cock is stroked, he learns to not let the bed so much as creak the slightest bit, not the softest change in his breathing. He learns how to use precum as lubricant because there is nothing else, and while he doesn’t learn how to kiss, or fuck, he learns how to touch. There’s no kind of education like that. It’s control, management of pain, seeking approval from people who rarely give it.

Yennefer gives him approval. She gives him choice, and she teaches him to move his hips. She teaches him it’s alright to breathe through it, to beg for it, to twitch, it’s okay to want something for himself. He can’t reconcile it, can’t adapt well to it. But in bed, with her, he allows himself to be freer. It doesn’t translate for him, into other situations. His learning is contextual. He has trouble applying the lessons she tries to teach him to other social situations. He can fight back with her because she likes him. He can argue with her about books because she starts the conversation for him because he doesn’t know how. He is heinously smart, he can read, write, and speak at least three languages, he can synthesize information so quickly it stuns her. If he’d been chosen as a mage, if he could access the Source, he would set the world on fire.

She teaches him to say ‘no.’ It’s not something he knew he could do. Not outside of negotiating a contract. Most of his world is lived inside of his own head because he isn’t allowed to offer opinions unless someone asks. Other than contracts. There is a script, there are rules, he can say ‘I won’t kill that’ or ‘that’s not enough coin’ or ‘no.’ Those situations he can talk freely and articulately.

They experiment in bed, to a point. She can tell when he’s getting cagey and stops. She never makes him say ‘no’, never lets it get that far, because she knows he’ll freeze. When he’s vaguely curious about light bondage she simply tells him to see if he can even stand to put his palms on the headboard and not touch her. He can’t. He can’t stand it if she won’t touch him, either, when she offers to return the favor and see if he likes that edge of control. He doesn’t. She’s had other lovers, but none like him. None as broken and angry as she is. (The book says, it flat out says, they did not know HOW to be kind, but they wanted to be, and so they were, when it describes how they make love.) They try other things, some things he more tolerates than enjoys -the unicorn. But he doesn’t hate it, he just doesn’t prefer it.

He can’t admit to feelings, he can’t admit to loving her, and so she can’t tell him because he isn’t ready to hear it. He can’t believe any of it, and so she can’t say a word. Telling him would chase him out of her life forever. When he tries to share things with her, when he tries to push himself to describe any part of himself, she listens. She uses many of his failings against him when they fight, but never what he tells her in confidence and struggle and broken words. When he tells her ‘they botched it’ meaning they botched him, he’s worthless, not made right, and horrible, she tells him perhaps she is the same.

Eventually the fighting is too much, the frustration at themselves is too much. They can’t heal each other. What they need doesn’t line up yet.

They break apart and he travels again, happy to reunite with Jaskier. Not that he understands that feeling. But something feels ...easier, with the bard around. He tries on occasion to engage in conversations, just sharing a random fact or quote with the bard and Jaskier doesn’t realize what Geralt is doing for weeks until Geralt stops and he finally asks him what his quote of the day is. Geralt visibly perks and Jaskier finally understands what Geralt has been trying to tell him. He finally asks the right question and Geralt talks to him for hours, long after the sun sets, as animated as his training allows him to be, describing how he’s connected this human myth to an elvish historical event that is corroborated by the dwarves, he had to read it in Elvish, and also Dwarfish, but he can’t find a written version of the myth he’s only heard it spoken or sung.

Jaskier takes him to Oxenfurt and leads him in and out of guest lectures. They sit in the back so Geralt can hide, because that’s what he does. Don’t look people in the eye unless they tell you to. Don’t look up, don’t be big, don’t exist if you can help it. And he hides and scrunches in on himself, but he listens, and the bard lets him pore over libraries and scares off anyone who would complain at a mutant witcher touching precious tomes. Geralt is gentle, and careful, and sweet, and he deserves to read what he wants, he deserves answers to questions about the world he could never find in Kaer Morhen where his only training was how to survive as a witcher.

Jaskier teaches him how to answer the question asked, not just say what he thinks people want to hear. That’s not what I asked you. I asked what your preference was. He learns that Geralt was very much raised to believe children should be seen and not heard, in terms of himself. He doesn’t speak up, doesn’t offer anything unless asked. Not unless it’s about witchering, then he is allowed. And so he makes sure to ask. Are you hungry? Would you like to stop for the night, too? Does that hurt, it looks like it hurts. And Geralt learns to listen to the words, and he learns if asked, he is allowed to speak for himself. He doesn’t have to do what he thinks Jaskier wants. Unless prompted, around people, he rarely speaks, rarely converses, and just tries not to be terrifying. Keeps his head down, hood up, he doesn’t want to be hurt. He’s sick of being hurt. He’s sick of going hungry, he is sick of being miserable. And he has found if he is invisible, people leave him alone. He doesn’t get stoned, he doesn’t get beaten, he doesn’t get chased out for just wanting a bed to sleep in and a warm meal. If he doesn’t take up space, he can exist. Jaskier speaks for him, people think perhaps he’s a simpleton who the bard travels with, they don’t know the quick mind behind the eyes focused firmly on the ground.

It constantly breaks Jaskier’s heart. He has never seen Geralt smile. He has never heard him laugh. He has heard him talk with intonation on occasion, and usually only when reciting what he’s been told. He is an incredible mimic for tone and pitch and it astounds the bard. When he asks Were you even listening to me at all? and Geralt begins reciting everything he had said, with perfect inflection, since Geralt’s last one word response, perfect tone, perfect everything other than he doesn’t change his voice, his gravelly voice will never soar into tenor heights.

Children, ones who don’t know what he is, love him. Parents who don’t know, don’t see the swords strapped to Roach, they don’t mind the bard’s pet simpleton playing pat-a-cake with their children, they don’t mind them teaching him to make flower crowns. Or watching them draw in the dirt. The children never think he’s stupid, they like him all the more for knowing they aren’t, either. He lets them pet his horse, and boosts them into the saddle. He helps them reach fruit on tree branches, and pulls down prickly berry vines full of blackberries so they can gorge on the sweet fruit. Jaskier loves watching him with children, because he’s less guarded. He starts out small, makes himself so small, so nonthreatening, and when the children realize he’s happy to play with them, he relaxes. The tension leaves him and the villagers ignore him. Any adult stupid enough to want to play with children, to humor them, and listen to their stories can’t be right in the head. The bard’s assurances he won’t touch them or hurt them goes a long way.

He used to freeze and flinch and shudder whenever Jaskier touched him, because he could not understand. He still doesn’t. Emotions make no sense, touching for affection that isn’t between lovers makes no sense. Jaskier stays with him, so they must be friends. He’d admit it openly if asked. He doesn’t understand he loves the other man. He wouldn’t know that’s what he was feeling even if he was told. He feels nothing, it’s a scooped out shell, there is nothing inside of him other than sometimes anger. That’s why he had to leave Yennefer. She was the sun and he just reflected her warmth, he had nothing of his own to give back.

Patently untrue, but there’s nothing that would convince him otherwise and Jaskier doesn’t try. Geralt is ridiculously capable and educated, and wonderful and the bard does what he can to praise him when he can because he knows Geralt needs to hear it. No one praised him or loved him as a child. Hugs are still foreign and after years of them his first instinct is still to flinch. He will sleep comfortably draped across the bard, or with the bard curled into him. He doesn’t care about that. He doesn’t have the same personal boundaries other people do. If he’s cold, and Jaskier is there, he sees no reason not to share heat.

It had given the bard heart failure when they’d been sitting around the fire after eating and Geralt had just started pleasuring himself without understanding why that might not be socially acceptable. He’d offered to help the bard first. Not wanting to give Geralt another reason to be ashamed, or small, or scared, he had declined, and wondered in what world could a boy grow up afraid of being held, but feel perfectly comfortable jerking himself off in the company of others. What had been even odder was the witcher had continued their conversation as though this was normal. Hadn’t lost focus, his breathing had never changed, he hadn’t seemed to take much pleasure from his actions, and Jaskier couldn’t understand why he was doing it.

It had made his heart hurt in new ways. It’s a perfunctory action, meant to relieve an itch, not something for pleasure’s sake alone. Everything he does has function and reason and logic.

When they run into people Jaskier knows, and they want to talk to the white wolf, or see him, or bother him, Jaskier tells them to leave him be. He won’t talk to them. His poor witcher gains a bit of a reputation as being a tame monster, trailing his bard on a leash and killing monsters as directed.

When they’re low on grain for the horses, he goes to busk and see if he can drum up coin. When he comes back to pay the stablemaster, the last thing he expects is for Geralt to be paying with his body, a blank expression on his face as he braces himself against the door of an empty stall. He looks at Jaskier without any kind of shame, any understanding of what’s happening to him because he needs feed for Roach, and she needs a warm place to sleep out of the muck during the rainy seasons. Her hooves need to be dried out, he needs to borrow tools to clean the frogs and check her shoes. He might need the services of a ferrier. He’ll get a bit of coin for this and then some extra. If it isn’t sex with a lover, it’s just a transaction, what should he care? The bard escapes when he realizes only Geralt saw, and pukes his guts up into the gutters. He’d have tried to stop it, but the stablemaster was bigger than he was and he couldn’t take the risk the man would hurt Geralt.

The horses taken care of, Jaskier uses the coin he’d earned to have a bath drawn up and helps Geralt bathe until all trace of stable is washed away. He tries to ask, and when Geralt openly tells him it’s just better that way, he bites his tongue so hard it bleeds rather than reply or push the issue. He has coin, they’re fine, Geralt won’t need to do that again while they’re together.

He notices how the witcher gets thinner after, stress and shame eating his insides even if he won’t admit it. He’d been the heaviest Jaskier had ever seen him after living with Yennefer for a few years. Healthy. Shiny hair, bright eyes, enough meat over his bones to hide them. Slowly his spine creeps through his skin and the bard can count the vertebrae. It will pass, and he realizes he’s seen this pattern. This has happened before he just hadn’t seen. It passes, Geralt finds lucrative contracts, and his body fills back out.

They continue to work on what feelings are. Geralt remains baffled by the fact the bard will not bed him in any capacity, and doesn’t understand why they can’t share a little pleasure. Jaskier knows if he gives in, Geralt will never let it progress beyond more than just skin on skin. He’ll never understand it could be more. He has to wait, he has to keep pushing for the witcher to understand there is more.

They happen upon a town, and a small girl, perhaps three or four years old, picks flowers by the side of the road. There’s a house visible in the distance, but it’s awfully far for a small child to have wandered. Geralt immediately looks around for a dead body, half expecting to find the child’s mother dead in a ditch. Nothing. When she notices his hair peeking out from under his cloak as he crouches down to talk to her, she pushes the fabric off his head to twirl her fingers into his hair. He barely breathes as he asks her where her ma and pa are. She points at the house and said she wanted the orange flowers. He looks over and sees that while there are what seems like thousands of wildflowers much closer, none are the color she’s currently collecting. The child will be missed soon enough, he supposes as he offers her a seat on his shoulder. Before she accepts, she splays small fingers under his eye and he freezes, waiting for her to scream or reject him. She simply says ‘pretty.’ When he lifts her up, she tangles a hand back into his hair to help her hold on and keep her balance. She stuffs the flowers into her small apron -probably made more to humor her than for any practical purpose, and occasionally pats Geralt’s head and tells him again, his hair is pretty and he’s nice to take her home.

When screaming reaches his ears, he knows the little girl’s name is Ivana, and he tells Jaskier, “Make noise, her mother is in the fields looking for her.” The bard’s trained lungs will project far better than his will. His lungs are trained to breathe evenly and slowly in all things. He will endure if he keeps his heart slow and his breathing calm.

“Over here! We’ve found her!” Jaskier calls, his voice ringing stridently over the fields. He’s not sure how she could hear him from so far that only Geralt can hear her frantic calls, but all the same he sees how Geralt tilts his head and nods to himself.

They speed up, Geralt’s stride long and even as the woman comes pelting across the grass, crushing flowers, and her skirts hiked up over her knees to keep them out of her way. She gasps slightly when she sees Geralt and the brightly dressed bard, not sure what they will do to her or her daughter. She can see the swords on the roan mare. “I haven’t coin, please don’t hurt her,” she says.

Jaskier feels Geralt shrivel. “We just saw her picking flowers and knew she’d be missing,” he explains. “We don’t want coin. Not for returning a toddler to her mother,” he protests. When she reaches out for her child, and Geralt obliges by leaning to hand her off, the girl shrieks in displeasure.

Geralt freezes, one arm half coming up to ward the mother off, but unsure. Why wouldn’t she want to go back? It’s Jaskier who saves the situation by laughing. “I see she’s gotten quite attached,” he tells the anxious mother. “Here, Ivana, come down, he’s very tired and he’s not a pony. You brought flowers for your ma, didn’t you? You can’t show her very well from up there,” and holds out his arms. The girl allows Geralt to pass her over, and he swiftly deposits her on the ground where her mother relaxes immediately. She shows the flowers, and offers Geralt one.

“Are you a witcher?” she asks.

“Yes,” Geralt says, careful not to open his mouth too much. His teeth are a bit too white, and his canines a bit too sharp. Not fangs, but some people choose to see them that way. They’d grown in sharper when he’d lost his baby teeth, he’d seen plenty of other humans with teeth like his, but against his pale skin and yellow eyes, the effect was more noticeable. More monstrous.

“There’s a wyvern, my man, when he gets back from ploughing, he can show you. I see Ivana has taken to you. If you’ll watch her while I bundle herbs, I’ll feed you both lunch.” She isn’t afraid of witchers. “We don’t have much coin, but there’s a bounty on the beast, you can turn it in, if you travel up the road a bit. In the mean time, I can offer you a place to sleep, some feed for your horse, and a meal in a few hours once I’ve finished my tasks.”

Jaskier knows Geralt is well pleased with the idea just from the shift of his shoulders. “Geralt’s a wonderful babysitter,” he smiles. “I can help you with the chores, I’m sure. Just put me to work. My name is Jaskier, that is Geralt, and you are?”

“Oh gods above, I’m so sorry, I’m Melina.” She reaches out to shake Jaskier’s hand and the bard accepts warmly, but when she tries to do the same for Geralt the bard gives her a look and she drops her hand. Odd. “Ivana, you mind Master Geralt, or I’ll give you such a hiding you won’t sit for weeks, do you hear me?”

“Yes, Mama,” she promises. “I will show him where to put the horse,” she says proudly and Geralt makes a ‘lead the way’ gesture at her with a little bow that makes her giggle. He takes Roach’s reins from Jaskier and follows the girl child to the barn.

“He won’t hurt her?”

“No, he’d die in her defense in a heartbeat.”

“But he can’t shake hands?”

“He wouldn’t know that’s what you wanted,” Jaskier tells her. Not sure if that makes it worse or puts her more at ease. “You don’t seem much afraid of him, considering how we started.”

“Witchers help people,” she smiles faintly. “My pa would have died long before he met my ma if not for a witcher who saved him on the road. Took a bad rake across his face, though, the witcher. My Pa taught us, even if we don’t know much reading or writing, history turns. People used to trust witchers. Then they tried to kill them all. And they’ll trust them again. Any man willing to risk dying to save others can’t be all bad.”

“That is what I’ve been saying.” He glances up to see the black-clad witcher come back into view with Ivana swinging his hand happily. He can’t hear her, but he knows she is chattering nonstop.

“Is he... simple?” she asks softly, watching as her daughter teaches Geralt a new clapping game he hasn’t seen before. He seems to be devoting all his energy to the game.

“No,” Jaskier breathes. “No, he’s brilliant,” his heart aches. “Will they be alright out here, your man won’t come home and try and beat him with a stick?”

“No, Roddy would never. He’ll come from the back fields as is. My Roderick is a good man. How could he hit your Geralt for playing with our daughter?”

“People have done worse for far less,” Jaskier says bitterly. He has no idea why he’s sharing with her. Perhaps months on the road of people being truly horrible to Geralt have made him desperate to talk to someone who isn’t. Someone who is kind.

“I see.” She shows Jaskier the herbs she’s drying, some to sell, some for home remedies. Vegetables to jar and pickle, and hundreds of other small tasks made near impossible by having a small child to mind. “My boys help their father in the fields, so that he can work on other tasks once they can manage the rest.” As the bard gets the knack for how to tie the herbs, she watches him a few seconds. “So what’s wrong with him?”

“Nothing,” Jaskier protests. “Nothing at all,” he aches for Geralt. “People, people are the ones who are wrong. He does everything he can to not draw attention. The less he talks, the less he moves, the less people notice and the less likely they are to-” His head snaps up when he hears a husky chuckle from outside. “Your man early?”

“No, he doesn’t laugh like that,” she says.

“Who the fuck is that then?” he demands, peering from the small window. Ivana is pointing at something dramatically and stamping a foot and he realizes the laugh is Geralt. His heart squeezes and he blinks rapidly. He hadn’t known Geralt could laugh. Not in all the years they’d been travelling together. “Oh,” he gasps, the wind knocked out of him.

“Let them be, if she starts to have a true tantrum I’ll rescue him. It’s about time for her to nap, she’ll be fussy soon enough.”

“Eh, he’ll be fine,” Jaskier tells her, rubbing at his eyes with a knuckle. “He’s faced worse than a grumpy toddler before.”

“Perhaps, Master Jaskier. But he cannot swing his sword to stop her from inconveniencing him.”

“He would never. Although, he might turn tail and run in here, seeking rescue,” he tries to turn the conversation somewhere else.

“He would never. Although, he might turn tail and run in here, seeking rescue,” he tries to turn the conversation somewhere else. He realizes he’s shaking as he works the herb bundles, and he takes a steadying breath. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be awkward,” he wipes at his eyes again. “I’ve never heard him laugh before,” his voice cracks. He’s seen Geralt with children, he’s seen the odd twitch Geralt does with his lips that’s his attempt at a smile, he’s never seen him laugh. He realizes the difference is no one is watching him but Ivana. He hears irritable fussing and more laughter. They both return to the window to watch.

“Are you sure he’s alright?”

Tempted to be honest, he sighs. “He’s fine.”

“He can’t keep the pattern, it’s a simple one. She’s three and she can,” she watches as her daughter stamps again, angry at Geralt for ruining the clapping game.

“Watch his shoulders,” he tells her. “He’s doing it on purpose. Look, see, he knows what’s coming next, he lifts his left shoulder and then still moves his right arm. He’s doing it to teach her something, watch her. Children are sponges. His upbringing, it was all physical, no words, he’s teaching her to watch his body language, look….” He’s never been able to observe Geralt like this and feels almost guilty. This is how he would have played as a boy; this is how he would teach a younger witcher. When Ivana catches on to his shoulder movement and anticipates his ‘mistake’ she crows in delight when she catches his hands and he hugs her tightly. Jaskier tries desperately not to sob. Geralt will not hug him. He will hug back, but he will not initiate any kind of casual comfort like this, and here he is hugging this little girl.

“Did you teach him to do that?” Melina asks softly, and he realizes she’s right.

“Yes,” he nods. Geralt never could have hugged that girl without Jaskier’s influence. He really had changed Geralt quite a lot. More than he’d realized. In an odd way, he had been relieved on the mountain when Geralt had exploded at him. It had hurt him, initially, Geralt had never pushed back much other than a few pitiful attempts to scare him off. He’d seemed to do whatever the bard wanted, and it had been fine at first until Jaskier had noticed a disturbing trend under it all. Then, Geralt had yelled at him. Had snapped, full of anger and hurt he didn’t know what to do with, and he’d taken it out on Jaskier. The person he spent most of his time trying to please and not offend. He had finally felt safe to say ‘if I show you the ugly side, will you go?’ and Jaskier had been able recognize it in time to say ‘no, I will not.’ He had drawn lines in the sand, he had pushed back about his feelings, but he had not abandoned Geralt.

He remembered some of the boys from his time at Oxenfurt. Scholarship children, who had come with black eyes and bony limbs. They had simpered, and sucked up, and been perfect all the time. Until finally they weren’t. Finally, they lashed out. Finally, they knew that they could express how badly they hurt and they would not be thrown away. They were safe. And so while Geralt had panicked, and tried to apologize, and tried to beg, Jaskier had shushed him and held him. All it had done was confuse Geralt and make his anxiety far worse. He couldn’t bring himself to be angry. Couldn’t bring himself to lecture. He had chosen this, he had chosen Geralt, and while he didn’t have to keep choosing, no one else would. Geralt deserved someone who chose him.

He had accepted the apology. He had refused to lash back out, had not struck Geralt, or accepted any other offers of what Geralt felt fair recompense was. Geralt had started to pull up the back of his shirt and Jaskier had not understood until he saw scars that came from human hands, not monsters. He’d thought he’d seen them all. It had taken some convincing that he had no intention of punishing Geralt in any capacity for his outburst. The witcher had not understood any of it, which made Jaskier feel he had made the right decision. He had simply asked for a promise, instead. _Try not to do it again. If you’re angry, be angry. But next time, yell at the person you’re angry at, not me._ _I promise, I promise. I won’t do it again._

It had been hard to explain guilt, it had been harder to explain anger, and the worst had been sorrow. He’d often found himself talking to Geralt about feelings. Especially after. Describing the physical sensations of them, the way his fists clenched in anger and his heart pounded and pulse raced, the sick twisting in his stomach that went with guilt, and at one point, Geralt had looked at him and whispered: _I think I feel that. I think I feel that all the time._ Jaskier had hugged him, ignored when Geralt went stiff as a board, and kept him close until he melted in, hugging back.

They watch for a few moments as Ivana pushes on Geralt’s cheek, trying to get him to smile. Jaskier winces, and when Melina prepares to go out and stop it, he asks her not to. “Let them play. Let her, she won’t hurt him. Or if she does, he’ll pull away a bit.” It occurs to him, as he watches the toddler make faces at the witcher, and watches Geralt make them back as they laugh together, he had probably never done this. “I don’t think he’s…” his throat dries out. “Unless he’s teaching her something you’d rather he didn’t, please…” he begs.

“No, we make faces at her all the time, and her brothers do far worse.”

It’s not as if he doesn’t think Geralt knew how to pull faces, it’s just he doesn’t think he’s ever had cause to. Never understood it could be done simply to amuse. When Ivana starts blowing raspberries Geralt laughs again. “Perhaps I could deter him from encouraging that particular expression,” Jaskier offers.

“Oh, it’s far too late for that,” she sighs, returning to her herb bundles. “That’s one of the first things she learned to do thanks to Anders.”

He watches as the witcher entertains the girl, keeping her cuddled up in his arms. She seems to be growing sleepier and he’s shocked to see Geralt rock her to sleep. He has no idea if he’s doing anything else, he couldn’t hear them speaking from this far away. But when Ivana reaches up to put a hand against Geralt’s throat, Jaskier is convinced the witcher is humming to her. “He’s put her to sleep.”

“Oh, I can put her to bed,” she says and looks out the window again. “Or perhaps he can just sit there with her, he seems peaceful.”

Jaskier nods swallowing back a sob. “He won’t move a muscle till she wakes again.”

“Oh, he doesn’t have to do that, she sleeps like the dead. Right scared her father and I half to death, if she hadn’t been breathing, we’d have buried her.”

The witcher settles against the apple tree they’d been playing under and dozes lightly against it. He hardly moves, afraid of disturbing the girl. The smell of apples surround him and his stomach gurgles miserably. There’s nothing he can do to silence it, but it doesn’t seem to bother the toddler against his chest any. He can’t reach any of the fruit in the branches, and the fruit in the dirt is rotten.

Jaskier looks at him and sees the way he’s looking around. “Is that an apple tree?”

“Yes.”

He goes back to help bundle the herbs. “Would it be alright if we ate a few? Just one or two?” He can tell it will be a few more hours until lunch is prepared.

“Of course, have as many as you want. We have a small orchard that we sell from, that tree is what we take from for ourselves. And for anyone wandering by in need of some food.”

“Right. I’ll be right back.”

Geralt listens carefully as he hears the door creak open and Jaskier’s footsteps approach. He doesn’t bother to move to look. He knows who it is, Jaskier won’t hurt him. Or Ivana. The girl is sucking on her thumb in her sleep and she is warm and soft in his arms and so small. His heart breaks at how small she is. The snap of apple stems and leaves rustling makes him look up. “Eat one,” he tells Geralt, holding one out. The witcher is much larger than the toddler and well able to hold her with one arm long enough to eat an apple.

Geralt shakes his head. The noise will wake her. “Loud,” he whispers. He knows Jaskier will understand the sentences he means to say. He’d just rather not waste the words.

“Her ma says she sleeps like a corpse, you won’t wake her,” for all Jaskier speaks in a slightly hushed voice. More for Geralt’s benefit than anything else. “Here, look,” he bites into an apple, juice running over his chin. The crunch does nothing to affect the sleeping child. He hands Geralt an apple.

Carefully, he bites into it slowly, turning his chin into his shoulder to stop the juices from running over his face. He doesn’t want to drip apple juice on the little one in his arms. She likes him. He doesn’t want her to stop liking him. He prefers children to adults. If nothing else they can’t hit as hard. He does his best to sink his teeth into the apple as slowly as possible, to avoid making the telltale crunch sounds apple make. He glances up when he hears a knife being drawn from the sheath, shoulders tensing. It’s just Jaskier cutting up another apple. The noise isn’t as loud as biting. Understanding dawns slowly and he allows the bard to lay out the slices on his leg where he can reach them. Chewing the apples is still louder than he’d like, but it’s far less noisy than biting in and tearing away the flesh of the fruit.

“Don’t eat the core,” Jaskier cautions him. “People think it’s abnormal, remember? I know you won’t get sick from it, and the texture doesn’t bother you much. But they have pigs and they might want the pips for planting. When lunch comes around, we’ll find out what to do with the cores, alright?”

Geralt tips his chin up to show he’s heard. He has been taught time and time again not to talk unless he has to. No one cares about what he has to say. All he needs to do is prove he’s listening, and answer questions when he’s asked. He can’t always help himself. “Small,” he tries to explain to Jaskier, fighting years of conditioning to get out one simple word.

“Yes, she is very small. Although we were all that small once. Maybe not for as long, but babies really are quite tiny.”

Geralt tenses when a shadow falls over them and lets himself relax again when all that happens is Jaskier gently smooths his hair. Ivana fusses in his arms for a second, shifting, and he feels a moment of panic that he’s done something wrong. She settles, and he tells himself he can’t feel panic. It was just adrenaline reacting to protect a child. Natural human biology, the last vestiges of it he still has. Humans are hardwired to protect their young and kill the young of their rivals. These people mean him no ill will and he has every responsibility as a witcher to protect them.

“I’ll go back in.”

Geralt just nods again. It’s so odd, how much people talk. He’s never gotten the hang of it. Not in a commonplace everyday way. Yennefer had taught him some of how to do it. What pleasantries to exchange, the formula to make people think you had manners. _Hello, good day, how is your family? Good day, how is your wife?_ She understood his hesitancy to talk to people who seemed to think he was no smarter than a prized sheepdog. She had pointed out to him, as a woman in a society full of people who thought only those with cocks should have a say, she was well able to understand his reluctance to subjecting himself to being mocked in public. Quite frankly he loves when she rages at people in public, because he has fantasized about it so many times.

A few times, he had let his mouth run away with him.

He had one time, found himself flogged. That had been deeply unpleasant and he desires to never repeat the experience. Another time, a simple beating. Yet another he had found himself bent over a table and shown that he was less than. He could have fought back, but it would make things worse. It always made things worse.

Except with Yennefer. And sometimes, sometimes, when he pushed back with Jaskier, just a little… tried to assert himself just a little, it was okay. The bard backed off, the bard let him have the space, or didn’t ask again. Yennefer had taught him he could do that with some people, and they would not hurt him because of it.

He dozes off once he’s finished the apples Jaskier left him. He always feels funny when the bard looks at him with his brows pinched and lips pursed. It feels like guilt, but it isn’t, and he doesn’t know what to call it. But he feels like he’s letting the other man down, somehow, whenever he sees that expression. Geralt can’t understand it’s Jaskier holding back tears, he hasn’t cried since before the Changes. It’s not as if he can recognize sorrow. But there’s always a bitter edge to Jaskier’s scent when he makes that face, and a hint of salt. Geralt just knows he hates it. As much as a witcher who can’t feel can hate anything. Logically, he tells himself, the bitter smell means something is wrong, which means an inconvenience later, and so it is alright to not want to smell it again. Anyone, with or without feelings would prefer to have things be easy and calm.

Ivana wakes him by pushing herself away from his chest. He lets her, crestfallen. She’s too warm and she also needs to use the privy. She informs him she is going, so if her mama asks, she minded him and he knows where she is. She points out the small outhouse and he nods. She touches his hair again, utterly fascinated by it before walking off to do her business.

Relief courses through him like poppy syrup, the heady feeling of knowing the girl hadn’t turned on him makes him dizzy. At least, perhaps it’s relief. If he can bring himself to ask Jaskier, Jaskier will tell him.

He always does. He’s felt this before, many times, but he hadn’t realized it was an emotion.

He had thought those had been beaten out of him, almost quite literally, and then mutated away. Geralt feels a bit like this every time he wakes up and Jaskier is still there with him. Sometimes, the bard stops off to spend some time with a comely woman. Which means Geralt wakes up alone, wondering if the bard will come back.

Geralt usually tries to avoid seeking out women, he enjoys sex, but he hates going through the process to get it. Simpler in a brothel, but he finds he doesn’t much want to pay for it, either.

_One of his first experiences with women had been in a brothel. He knew all about human anatomy and physiology but had no working concept of sex between men and women. There was no practical application at the keep, nor an explanation of the mechanics of it. None of the books around had any information, either. Humans mated for procreation, and for pleasure, witchers could not procreate. Their mutations rendered them sterile._

_The whore had been oddly kind to him. After one of his first contracts, he had found the nicest brothel he could reasonably afford without spending too much of his coin. He did not want to test the theory witchers could not contract disease._

_Geralt had not known what to do, and had admitted it, and she had not mocked him. She had taught him the very basics and not been overly put off when he had remained silent throughout other than to ask a question or two. He didn’t know she’d thought him younger than he was. His inexperience had been sweet, and his concern of making her uncomfortable had also touched her._

_His offer to keep his eyes closed so she wouldn’t have to see them had amused her. Clearly he had never seen a real live naked woman before her, and she knew it. She had encouraged him to touch and to seek pleasure. He had not been especially brave or daring. But he had been gentle, afraid of hurting her. When he’d come, he’d gripped the sheets rather than her, knuckles white with the force of it, clearly afraid if he’d held onto her, he would have bruised her._

_While plenty of her group was happy to discuss their clientele and mock them after, she had never once mentioned him to anyone. He had been sweet, and curious, and had thanked her, of all the odd things. He had also told her she was beautiful, which she knew he was sincere about. Idiot pup hadn’t known any better. All the same, she had not added him to the list of first timers she mercilessly mocked afterwards with the other girls in the bordellos._

He watches Ivana make her way back to him and he lifts a brow when she holds up her hands to be picked up and carried. She’d lightly splashed her hands in the trough on the way back over and her frock and hands are wet. Bemused, he lifts her back into his arms and takes a breath before heading inside the farmhouse. He doesn’t knock, Yennefer had told him if he’d already been invited in, unless he thought he’d interrupt something he should just let himself in. No one would think it was amiss. He wasn’t a student waiting outside of the office for permission, or a servant. If he’d been given free run of a place, he should just take it. Being awkward about it would make other people awkward in turn and he would find himself chased out again.

The girl is still sleepy, and rests her head against his chest, quietly playing with his medallion. He doesn’t mind the metal sound of the hasp over the chain, and she lightly runs her thumb over it, careful not to yank it on his neck much. He’s never known a human to be so gentle with him. Other than perhaps Jaskier. But that’s different. Jaskier is his friend. Most children are also much rougher, still learning motor skills. He sees her mother, Milena, wears a necklace. Perhaps she’d learned to be gentle after constant reminders.

“Oh, you can stop her,” the woman says looking up as Geralt walks in and he hunches. “If she’s not bothering you, she likes the feel of the metal under her fingers,” she lightly touches her fingertips to her own necklace and he feels pleased his guess was right. “She used to fuss with it as a babe, I suppose it isn’t as if isn’t still a babe,” she feels silly. She brushes hair out of her face and watches as Jaskier continues to bundle herbs. “Ivana, can you tell the nice witcher about the herbs I have?”

“Yes,” she says sleepily around her thumb. She points them out, telling him their names. For all she mispronounces several, he never tries to correct her. He’d been a little older than her when he’d been left to wander the woods near the keep. Better able to speak clearer, and as such had been taught to pronounce everything correctly. The fact she’s as small as she is with a memory that capable awes him. Then again, he has no real concept of how much she should or shouldn’t know at her age.

“I’m going to start lunch, Master bard, do you mind continuing without me?”

“Not at all,” Jaskier smiles. He finds he loves how easy Geralt is, here. The witcher looks around the room curiously and freezes when he sees the world’s fattest tom cat lazing in a sun patch by the window. Cats hate witchers. Jaskier follows his glance and tries not to laugh. “That is quite the fat cat,” he crows, delighted. “Oh, look Geralt, I bet his belly drags the floor, his little legs are stubs.” He’s never been sure if Geralt is afraid of cats, or if there’s more at play there, but the witcher’s reluctance to be around them has amused him for years.

“Unfortunately for poor Tom, we now call him ‘Fatty.’ Between my boys and Ivana, they feed him so many scraps he won’t chase mice anymore. He’s the most worthless mouser now. Not much of a cat, honestly.” She has to cross the floor to get some garlic hanging by the window in a braid and nudges the cat with her toe. The animal doesn’t so much as twitch a whisker. “I keep thinking he’s dead,” she admits. “He knows if he just lays about someone will bring him food.”

“Come pat him,” Ivana tells Geralt, wriggling in his arms so he puts her down hurriedly rather than hurt her trying to hold on, or worse, drop her.

“No,” he says quietly, with a little shake of his head.

“Come pat him,” she insists, taking his hand and pulling.

Melina turns around, “Ivana!” she snaps. “He said no, when is it okay to ignore when someone says no?”

“When it’s about chores, and farm work, and eating your vegables,” she says.

“Is this any of those things?”

“No,” she digs her toe into the ground, clutching the front of her apron with both hands.

“Apologize.”

“I’m sorry.”

Geralt watches the interaction with trepidation, but nothing bad happens to Ivana. Her mother doesn’t spank her or scream at her. The girl isn’t even especially upset. If there had been a rule in the keep about that, and he had done what Ivana had, he wouldn’t have had time for a reminder. He would have had his hands on the wall and his britches down before he knew what happened. If he’d complained, or cried out, or shown any sign of pain the count would have started over until he could manage. At some point, you hurt so bad you couldn’t feel more, and so there was no way to truly fail. Eventually it stopped.

“He’s soft,” she tells Geralt as a means of explanation. He nods to show he’s understood her, but he doesn’t want to talk much in front of her mother. Or anyone else.

The bard watches Geralt under his eyelashes, he’d seen the other man tense and he knows that look of dull panic Geralt gets. “How’s about we pet the cat, and we can tell Geralt about it, and later, if he changes his mind, he’ll pet the cat later.” He glances up ruefully at his friend. “It sounds a bit like a euphemism, doesn’t it? I had no idea saying ‘pet the cat’ that many times in a row would make it sound strange.”

Geralt snorts to show he’s heard, and he glances at Melina, she smiles as she chops vegetables and crushes garlic under the blade of her knife. It’s a bit dull he knows just from watching. He winces when it slips on a carrot and almost cuts her finger. He divides his attention between the bard, girl, cat and woman for a few seconds. When Ivana shows Jaskier how to pet the cat’s belly, because it’s too fat to bite them or scratch them for it, he decides he can safely focus on Melina.

“Blade’s dull,” he tells her quietly, not sure she’ll understand what he wants her to. But he can show her what he means. He pulls his belt pouch open and shows her a small whetstone. He’ll fix it for her. The words are theoretically simple, but she did not ask him to tell her. She did not ask him to fix it.

“I’d be grateful if you’d sharpen it,” she tells him, and passes it over handle first.

It’s nice that she knows not to hand it over blade first. Not many people do and he never likes the idea of someone thrusting anything at him blade before hilt. He sits at the table without permission and freezes, but she’s ignoring him, tearing up herbs to season their lunch. Carefully, he puts a new edge on the blade, surprised the quality of the metal is so high. This isn’t the most prosperous farm he’s seen, and she’d claimed they had little coin. But they clearly had some kind of life here. There’s signs of love and family all over.

He passes it back when he’s done, having checked it would cut easily by cutting through one of the frayed threads of his shirt with little pressure. “Sharp,” he cautions her.

“I’ll be mindful.” She looks over at her daughter. “Ivana, remember, stay away from Mama’s knives. What could happen?”

“Lose my fingers!” the girl tells her wiggling them and holding her hands up in the air.

“Do you want to lose your fingers?”

“No, Mama.”

“So, what do we leave alone?”

“Knifes!”

Geralt follows the exchange with no understand of what’s happening. Why not just let the girl cut herself? She’d learn from that. He looks at her as she pats the cat’s white belly while it lays there like a slug. Those small little hands don’t need scars, or blood all over, and he wonders if he should have sharpened the knife. What if she disobeys?

He’s broken out of his reverie when he hears people coming. He stands up from the table, he was not invited to sit, but he isn’t sure what to do with himself either. He does not want anything to do with the tom cat. Jaskier watches him and raises an eyebrow and Geralt looks away. “People,” he tells Jaskier, realizing the eyebrow is a question and he is supposed to answer.

“Oh, good, that should be my boys, and my Roderick,” Melina smiles. “The boys will pester you. But unlike their sister, they’re old enough to know when you say you’ve had enough, you mean it. And I’m serious, Master Geralt. When you’re done letting them pester you, tell them to stop.”

He nods once, not sure what to do beyond that. He shifts his weight as subtly as possible, deeply uncomfortable.

“Ivana, show our guests where the dishes are, and help clear up the herbs for later.”

“Yes, Mama.” She can’t reach where things need to go, but she knows where they should be. Geralt hoists her onto his shoulders again handing her bundles of herbs to hang on hooks so that the table is mostly cleared. Then following her gestures and wiggles he walks over to where cups and plates are, taking them from her as she passes them to him one at a time. The forks and spoons are also easy to find, and he carefully sets the table. “You put the fork wrong,” she tells him indignantly.

“No,” he argues before he can stop himself. Yennefer had shown him. She’d even shown him there were books for proper noble ladies to learn this sort of thing from. She’d told him while it was honestly all stupid drivel, at least no one would accuse him of not knowing his ass from his hand. He’d know which fork to use for what, even if he’d never have to set a table in his life.

“Ivana,” Melina is exasperated. She looks over at how the witcher has set the table and can tell from how neatly he’s done it and how confused his eyes look that he’s probably learned somewhere far fancier than a farm.

Jaskier is shaking with mirth, as he watches Geralt attempt to remove the child from his shoulders. She squeaks and squeals which makes him freeze, and to her it’s a great game but the poor witcher has no idea what’s happening. Eventually Jaskier takes pity on him, scooping her off his shoulders in a swinging motion that prompts cries of ‘again, again’ as the back door bangs open and Geralt just about flies out of his skin. Jaskier sets Ivana down and she runs to greet her brothers and papa. He puts a hand on the small of Geralt’s back. Loud noises don’t always mean something bad is happening.

Geralt seems to shrink down, becoming less. Jaskier hates when he does this, because he shouldn’t have to, but it does make him look less threatening.

“Roddy,” Melina smiles, kissing her husband happily as he pulls her into a tight hug.

“Mel, I tell you, Anders will be able to run the plow on his own, and then I’ll be able to take…” he trails off to see guests in their home. Geralt seems to shrink down further, and Jaskier gently propels him forward so that they can shake hands and be introduced properly. “I see you’ve got company.”

“A witcher, and a bard,” she smiles. “This is Jaskier, and Geralt.” She waits as her husband shakes the bard’s hand and then takes his in her own before he can reach for Geralt’s. “I’ve told them you’d set them on the course of the wyvern first thing tomorrow. Ivana ran off this morning and they brought her home. Jaskier has helped me bundle the herbs for market at the end of the week, and Master Geralt has been Ivana’s minder for the past few hours.”

Roderick relaxes and Geralt does, too. “I’ll be taking the boys, Anders, say hello, and then my younger son Petyr, Petyr say hello, then take your sister and go wash up.” The children go running off and Roderick grins a bit. “Ah youth.” He can’t be much past thirty, and Jaskier snorts at the joke. The man’s dark eyes and dark hair are reflected in his children, for all they got their mother’s olive skin. “I’ll be taking the boys up to one of the back fields, the wyvern was last seen around there, taking up some sheep, maybe a person or two. Hard to tell. Some people drink too much and drown in the river. Thought it was drowners some time back. Just stupidity.”

Geralt tips his head a bit in agreement. Half the time there are no monsters, just stupid people. Roderick steps around the table and almost trips over the cat. Swearing his arm flails and Geralt steps in before he can think to stop himself, catching the other man under the forearm and bracing him before quickly letting go and retreating it. Jaskier again puts an arm out, stopping Geralt from going too far back. He’s done nothing wrong.

“Damn you’re fast,” Roderick breathes. “Thank you. I’d have hate to just made such an ass of myself, having just met you.”

Jaskier glances at Geralt. “You’re welcome,” he translates.

Roderick looks at them askance, but after sharing a glance with his wife decides it doesn’t matter. If the witcher doesn’t want to talk he doesn’t have to. Perhaps whatever mutations he’d gone through stopped him from being able to. “Here, sit down with me, I’ll get us some water, unless you’d prefer something stronger? I think we have plenty of beer.”

The witcher allows Jaskier to press him in closer to the table until he’s forced to sit. “Geralt?” Jaskier presses. “I wouldn’t mind just water,” he says, glancing at Geralt again. He lightly rests his hand on the other man’s thigh. Too many people, too much stimulus, he can’t cope with a question about preference right now. The bard decides for him. “I think water will be fine for us both.” He hates having to do that, but he knows Geralt won’t answer. Can’t answer. He squeezes his leg gently.

Geralt carefully rests his clasped hands on the table, showing he is unarmed. He doesn’t move them and keeps his hands as loose as he can. He wants to squeeze them together and his knee bobs up and down frantically until Jaskier gently squeezes his leg again, patting it. The touch is so soothing Geralt calms again. He should be outside, perhaps. Maybe it would be better if he waited in the barn with Roach. He can’t ask to leave, though, it would be rude and no one has asked him anything about where he should like to go.

Milena sets a trivet down on the center of the table before lifting the pot from the fire and setting it onto the trivet. She leans over to gently set a hand over Geralt’s on the table. Jaskier digs his fingertips into Geralt’s leg, willing him not to pull away. _Don’t react badly_ , he prays.

Quite the accomplished mimic, Geralt simply turns his hand palm up, allowing her to squeeze his hand and squeezing back before she pulls away. The bard breathes a sigh of relief. He knows how much the witcher fears being touched.

_Geralt had learned as a child not to touch others for comfort, or to allow touching in turn. Holding hands meant a beating. He’d forgotten what a hug was within days of beginning his training. No instructors picked them up to comfort them if they fell. They were told from the start, again, and again, witchers don’t feel. Witchers are not weak. Witchers hunt monsters or they die. You had to be strong to survive the training, and then you would go out and take contracts. You were there because no one wanted you. Geralt had protested, his mama had just lost him, she would find him. She’d told him she would find him, people bound by destiny would always find each other. He had bolted after that, knowing he would not like what happened to him for speaking up._

_And he had not. His mother had not used a belt on him, for all he had received the occasion swat for misbehaving. This was nothing like that. The witcher had yanked his belt free of his trousers, and folded Geralt over his knee within seconds. The boy hadn’t even had a chance to get ten paces before he was howling and squirming. ‘This doesn’t stop until you’re quiet’ the voice had told him, and he had screamed himself hoarse because he couldn’t stop. Couldn’t master himself. Once his voice had given out, it had stopped. He had snuffled and sobbed and laid there in the dirt after when he’d been pushed away. ‘Get up or we start again.’ He had gotten up._

_Another boy had risked everything that night to comfort him. He could not sleep on his back or side he hurt so bad. He couldn’t sleep at all, he wanted to leave so badly, but the pain did not help. Eskel had become his best and dearest friend. As much as they were able to be friends. Fortunately, the boys were so miserable as a whole they never took it out on each other. No groups formed; the bigger boys didn’t torment the smaller. They were all in the same miserable castle together, and the least they could do was not add to each other’s suffering._

Geralt flinches when the boys come back in, loud and bright and laughing. Jaskier again squeezes his leg and starts up the gentle stroking. The bard could have shifted the touch to the inside of his thigh and it wouldn’t have aroused him, it was unmistakably meant to be kind and nothing more.

“Manners,” Roderick protests, coming back with two pitchers of water in his hands, having just pumped it from the well. It’s safe to drink and sweet. He sets them on the table on either side of the food. “Boys, be quiet, or at least try,” he says in exasperation. “I promise, we didn’t raise them like this.”

“They’re young,” Jaskier smiles. “I was far worse at their age.” He snorts when Ivana crawls up next to Geralt on the bench and drags herself into his lap so she can peer over the table. He pulls his hand away in time to avoid startling her. Or her noticing and wanting to know why he was touching the witcher’s thigh. “Oh, let him eat by himself,” he scolds gently, hoping that one of her parents will take it as a cue to remove her. Geralt won’t be able to relax to eat until she’s out of his lap.

Melina scoops her up and deposits her in her father’s lap. They settle together and say a small short prayer to Melitele before Roderick dishes out food to his children and himself. Melina offers their guests the ladle and Jaskier serves himself and glances at Geralt. He’d given himself about as much as Roderick had, not wanting to take too much, but also being hungry. The apples had slowed down his hunger pains but hadn’t quelled the ache entirely. He has a feeling Geralt feels the same. There’s plenty in the pot for seconds, if he’s wrong, and he serves Geralt without asking. It’ll save the witcher some kind of internal debate.

He’d seen Geralt drift off at the table moments before, his jaw clenching and knows the stress of being around so many people for so long is getting to him.

“After lunch, do you mind if we found a place to sleep? Is there room in the barn?” he asks.

“The barn?” Melina asks. “Oh, no, we have an attic room. My mother used to sleep up there. She passed a year ago, not in the room. She was out in the fields when it happened. We keep the room clear of dust, and use it mostly for storage, but the bed is sound.”

“Well, how about that, Geralt?” Jaskier smiles brightly. “A nice meal, good company, and a bed. We’ve found the nicest family on the continent. And all you have to do is kill a measly wyvern.”

Geralt grunts in agreement, and leaves one hand on the table in view, and uses the other to scoop up his food with the fork. He’d waited to eat until he saw the others start. Yennefer had warned him about this, too. _Some places might wait for their guest to eat first, but usually you wait for the host. If they don’t start to eat, pick up your utensil and see if they do. If they copy you, you have to eat first. Don’t take extras unless they’re offered. I’ve yet to find a place where it isn’t rude to take more than you’ve been given._

“Thank you,” he manages, forcing his frozen tongue to move in his mouth. Melina leans forward again, squeezing his hand on the table just like she had before. He turns his palm up again, and squeezes back. That seems to be the appropriate response or she wouldn’t have done it again. Jaskier pours them both some water, and he drinks it, hand still under Melina’s on the table. Should he pull away? But she squeezes his fingers gently again. Some part of his brain registers she’s comforting him, she can sense his distress. The rest of him dismisses that, because he can’t feel, and therefore doesn’t feel distress. She is playing some kind of game that peasants of the region play, and since her husband is utterly unconcerned it is nothing sexual or flirtatious.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is going to end up it's own fic, I can tell. I have 20 pages, plus at least a page of notes... the intention is to cut in Geralt's and Jaskier's memories throughout the story of Geralt killing this wyvern. 
> 
> I re-read some of the books recently, really focusing on the good AND bad shit Yen and Geralt do, and apparently Dandelion recognizes Geralt's weirdo eating habits and sees he got them from Yennefer the 1 time they eat together. So I would assume she teaches him other shit, because Dandelion sure does. The first go thru in the book it says they were together 4 years in Vengeberg, and then Sapkowski changes that 2 times to be different amounts, or there's some kind of translation issue. So i'm basing it off the first #.  
> Also, in the books typically when he tries to work thru his feelings, people tell him to shut up. Nenneke reminds him several times she isn't his mother and doesn't care about his bitching. He tries to force the issue but caves. I would assume since she is one of his teachers, that it would be fairly likely for him to have grown up being told not to have feelings/express them/understand them.


	24. Firefighter AU

Since it's my birthday and I feel like it.

Have firefighter Geralt AU. Where his home where he grew up - say like a group home for youth, as we do in the US for foster kids who can't be matched with a parent.

And some religious zealot burns it all down while Geralt and a few others are on a trip. They come home and try to save as many as they can and he gets severe burns bc of it. His hair grows in white over his burned scalp etc.

Okay? Caught up? Cool

So it's time for the yearly fundraiser for the local fire station and they're going to do a pinup calendar. They want Geralt to either be Dec or Jan bc they can make him look wintery. Maybe hot Santa with his white beard and hair.

He of course wants nothing to do with this. At all. Goes home to his wife and their live in boyfriend and his daughter to be like: can you believe these assholes? And all the peer pressure. Jaskier tries to reassure him he doesn't have to, but that the scars are no where near as bad as he thinks.

Yen tells him if they won't fuck off about it he should just start stripping in the middle of whatever room it is just to spite them. If they won't take no, he doesn't owe them an explanation of any kind he should just make them eat it and never push his boundaries again.

Ciri tells her dad she thinks he'd be a very handsome Santa if he wanted, and maybe he could just wear a red shirt and some jeans and then they would leave him alone. He should just pose funny like the guy in her comic books.

Needless to say people keep hounding him. Saying everyone's got a month or they did it last year. So it's not like they aren't asking him to do anything that they haven't. They can even show him past calendars but it's tradition. First, he tries Ciri's suggestion, he could pose silly with presents or something or maybe leave the jeans undone?

Jaskier's not wrong but it won't work, clearly.

They jokingly ask him if he's just afraid of how small his dick is or something, and tell him no one's going to see it in the calendar it'll be okay. Plus the rooms are always kinda cold so he can always blame it on that.

Which prompts him to take Yen's advice and just start stripping. "y'know what? Fine!" Off comes his hoodie, then his black long sleeved Henley, and there's scars up his arms from reaching into the flames to try and get his foster brothers. Then comes his undershirt revealing badly scarred and damaged skin all over his chest and back, then his pants, revealing scars over his backside and thighs where he'd fallen with one boy on his back and caught fire. He'd put it out but the skin will be shiny and pink the rest of his life.

He does not have a small dick.

His body hair is white and dark in turns depending on if it's growing out of scar tissue or not. "happy?" He asks as flatly as he can. "Quick get your picture now, you can Photoshop the Christmas bullshit in later," he snaps, holding out his arms. Jaskier's right, he doesn't need to be ashamed.

"Jesus fuck" is the response of some.

Others don't react much. They've seen worse. Some have worse burns. Some have no burns.

Coën, new to the station, wolf whistles and claps. Soon a bunch of the guys join in, glad to turn the awkward mood into a joke.

"Next time, do it slower," Coën suggests with a grin. Geralt blushes in irritation and starts dragging his clothes back on, point proven.

Later the chief approaches him and tells him he doesn't have to pose if it makes him that uncomfortable. Geralt shrugs. Fidgets with his ring and says he'll think about it.

When he goes home after another block shift, he tells Yennefer and Jaskier what he did, face in hands at the table. Jaskier laughs uncontrollably for a while, as Yennefer rubs his back. She knows he doesn't like losing his temper or reacting to people badgering him. At the same time she knows she won't be able to hold the laughter in for long.

When Ciri comes down, drawn by her dad's laughter, "what happened?"

"your father gave the station a strip show," Yennefer says with a wicked grin that makes Geralt groan and press his hands even harder over his face.

Ciri laughs, but is also mortified. "the whole station?"

"everyone in the break room at the time," Jaskier wipes his eyes. Yennefer has broken down laughing, an arm around Geralt's shoulders. "you sure showed them," Jaskier snorts. "literally. You literally showed them." He starts laughing again.

Ciri rescues her dad, "I think Roach threw a shoe, will you come help me check? Before it's dark?"

"yes," he says gratefully, face still beet red. She goes outside with him and when they go out to Roach, who is chilling in the paddock and comes over to look for carrots, Ciri tries not to start laughing.

"Did you really strip down in front of everyone?"

"yes," he groans.

"aren't there cameras all over the station, except the shower and toilet areas?"

"fuck."

She cackles.

He hides his face in Roach's neck and curses himself, his family, and the entire station.


	25. Firefighter AU follow up

Okay but follow-up:

Bc of an ao3 comment

They do get him to pose in the calendar for January as the spirit of winter or Jack Frost or whatever.

Ciri is in hysterics when she finds out that he had to have blue glitter in his hair and beard for all she will never be allowed to see the calendar. She mostly finds out bc he failed to wash it all off his eyebrows/under his chin.

Jaskier is amused to find out that Geralt let them paint him blue in places - not necessarily to hide the scarring but kind of to hide it. Originally it would have just been some decorative swirls but he asks if they can cover up the worst of it. It helps him feel less uncomfortable. But they don't hide all the scars and he doesn't really want them to.

Yen of course bribes the photographer or knows them or SOMETHING and manages to get a copy of the proofs/individual shots before one is chosen for the calendar. She is living for this. Especially the images before they're altered.

Please also imagine that somehow they use snowflakes to hide the "unmentionables". Perhaps he's standing arms up with his head tipped back like he's making it snow and some of the flakes are out of focus over parts of his body.

Or maybe he's standing behind something or just whatever. But the point is he looks like some kind of old pictish god mixed with a dude who stumbled out of a pride parade missing the rest of his rainbow.

(also Yen never uses the pics for blackmail, or anything mean. Geralt is aware of them. He's too embarrassed to admit he's curious about how they came out and so Yen and Jaskier show him and shower him with compliments for being brave enough to do it and show off the scarring. He is somewhat uncomfortable/embarrassed about the pictures, but he likes the attention and praise he's getting from his partners. They love being able to build him up after his absolutely horrible childhood. Being told he was ugly, and then mocked and hurt because of the scarring and being different and 'weird'... it's a relief to have solid proof other people also think he's attractive. Even if they won't be sharing him in any other capacity than the 1 calendar photo.)

Despite Jaskier's best attempts, no he will not recreate the "strip tease" -it wasn't a strip tease!- from work.

Geralt does however get shitfaced and manage to drag his shirt off really slow. He pretends it was on purpose and not because he was so drunk he got stuck in it. 

Ciri, currently in high school, suffers the mortification of people who saw the calendar that an older sibling or parent bought and think her dad is a total dilf and want to ask her all sorts of bizarre questions. Things she has never thought about and will not think about because that would be vile. When poor Geralt shows up to pick her up early from school one day because of some event half the class tries to awkwardly flirt with or make eye contact with him and he knows something is definitely weird and is very red. Also maybe he should have waited in the office, but nooo he'd just had to surprise her. 

Yennefer loves finding little bits of blue glitter months later to show Geralt because he turns red and it's precious. He gets extra kisses when he blushes which only makes him blush more. 

There's some talk of one of the other firefighters, who happens to have red hair being the embodiment of summer or something, and then the Heat Miser Cold Miser jokes start rolling in. How they should take pictures together next year. Geralt is again, mortified. Poor guy. Since all he does is turn red and act grumpier than usual it's plenty fun for people to tease him which does not help him at all. 

(also lots of ppl want to know if they can donate extra for more pics of Mr. January and THIS is what Geralt's family teases him about unceasingly. Even his co-workers rib him for being one of the most popular "pin ups".)

When brush fires pick up, and they're busier, the teasing is mostly forgotten and he gets to forget about it for the most part. Until somehow, inevitably it comes up again. 

He is so grateful when one of his buddies trips over a branch and lands in bear scat and becomes the new source of all jokes for the foreseeable future he could cry. 

For April Fool's day Jaskier brings home edible body paint, but he opens the package beforehand and hides the other colors so there's just blue sitting on the nightstand. He highly doubts Geralt will let them use it, or use it on them in turn, but it'll be worth it to watch him turn red as a cherry. And Jaskier will make it up to him on his knees, paint or no paint. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am sitting here like, I need to relearn how to draw anatomy. This might be a fun project. And then also like, but that seems like a lot of work. Hmm.


	26. deaged au idea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> just a random tumblr posted I added stuff two a few times thinking about how cute Geralt and Eskel would be as babies.

So it occurred to me how adorable it would be to have baby Geralt and Eskel having the time of their lives in a mud puddle.

But then it also occurred to me that they would probably get punished for not doing what they should/making a mess -they get in trouble for far less in the books.

So the only way that scenario works is if it's some kind of de-aging curse and Dandelion has to deal with it. I feel like Yen would fix it in a matter of hours so it's less fun to involve her until the end. When Dandelion gets them to her for the cure.

I imagine without proper adult supervision two little Witchers could get themselves into all sorts of trouble. But at the end of the day when they're piled on each other asleep like puppies who can stay mad at them?

I am kind of like what if they were more or less turned into their 5-6 year old selves. But still had their Witcher-ness? Like maybe some of their memories of the keep so they think they've escaped and it's going to be awesome bc no one's going to stop them from doing every stupid thing they want to do.

Fucking Dandelion has no business taking care of children so it would be hilarious and they would run him ragged.

Two little Witchers deciding they want that pastry off the shelf and with their abilities they can get it and disappear before anyone knows.

Playing in mud. Scuffling around with each other. Demanding stories. Generally being high energy and fussy and not wanting to nap etc.

Absolute hysterical sobbing when Dandelion uses a snare to catch a bunny rabbit and kills it and skins it in front of them bc they aren't killers yet. And they haven't seen anything that soft or cute die yet. Refusing to eat the dead bunny and being ridiculously upset about it for hours

I'm kind of imagining them showing up at Yen's place as Dandelion is just like. An exhausted wreck haha. A fond exhausted wreck. And she's like ?? I gave up on children and ---- is that Geralt????

And Geralt, with all of the honesty of children telling her she is the prettiest lady he's ever seen.

Like obviously she would put them to rights once she had the spell together but she could pick one of them up and walk around while she did it. Leaving Dandelion to only have to keep 1 in line but she's way fiercer so when she says "don't do it" for any reason they just listen and he hates her a little haha.

Tiny exhausted Geralt or Eskel balanced on her hip, head on her shoulder.

Dandelion having kind of loved it but also being really glad it's not permanent because yes snuggling them was adorable and yes they were precious and baby faced, they were right terrors AND he wanted his friends back.

Like, just wanting them to stop for like 5 minutes and then coming back to find they’ve worn themselves out. Asleep together holding hands, one has his thumb in his mouth.

Or one of them gets mildly hurt and the first reaction upon seeing Dandelion is to reach up chubby little hands wanting to be picked up and cuddled. (And he finds he forgives them for having a shit fit for being told no earlier)

Or just adorable baby witchers playing in the stream and splashing and all that stuff. Squealing in delight when they see lil frogs or fish or pond skimmers. Enjoying squirrels and butterflies and oh Geralt is in love with the idea Roach is his horse and loving riding even tho his legs barely reach the ends of the saddle, forget the stirrups. And happily braiding flowers into her mane when Dandelion suggests she might like it.

Both Witchers climbing into his bedroll with him after weird noises wake them up. Their hearing is sensitive but they don’t know how to kill yet or how to be emotionless.

He finds himself more upset that when the curse is broken they will lose all of the freedom and joy and ability to emote and be happy and also let themselves be sad.

Maybe sometimes Dandelion wishes he didn’t have to turn them back and could let them grow up all over again normal and loved. But it’s horribly wrong and they can’t consent or choose like this and he misses their adult selves even if his heart breaks for the active little boys with huge hearts who got told they shouldn’t be themselves. Who the world hurt so badly. And he wishes he could do something about any of that.

Getting them back to Yennefer is a relief. And heartbreaking. Geralt wants to tell her all about his horse. Isn’t it nice he has his own? And Eskel is sweet and charming and enjoys being carried around. He wants to look at her spellbooks and potion ingredients. Did she know he could cast one or two signs? Look look he can light the candles!


	27. crackfic idea

what if Jaskier talked like Miette?

Oh!oh! How dare Witcher kick Jaskier?! Kick his body like football!! Shame! Shame on Witcher! Jail for a thousand years!

And Geralt just…. Wishes he’d kicked him hard enough to wind him so he’d be quiet. But then townsppl r rude to him and he hears:

How dare?! How dare random person be rude to Witcher?! Shame!! Shame for eternity! Oh! Jail! Jail for assholes! Oh I hate you! I will sing mean songs! Mean songs about bad people! Shame!!!


	28. Will you come back

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Did you feel like being sad? Because this made me sad.

Imagine maybe the day Visenna "loses" Geralt in the woods he'd gotten in trouble earlier. Dropped something or broke it or didn't do something she asked him to.

And imagine him as a little kid, wondering if he's good, if he does everything he's told and everything he's supposed to be, will she come back?

People bound by destiny will always find each other, maybe when she's not mad anymore she'll come looking and she'll find him in the Keep only this time he will be _good_ and she won't leave him again.

/Anyone else just hear the refrain "if i'm good will you come back? if I'm good will you come back?' over and over and over? 


	29. Firefighter Au cont.

(apparently I can't let this go bc I just wrote fluff and therefore must add angst or it isn't me.)

Please also imagine the times they're too late to save people. And Geralt coming home wrecked and reeking of smoke. He's still coughing a little and while he's medically cleared he's miserable.

He'll stop in to look in Ciri's room, and watch her sleep for a bit. Making sure everything is fine. His soft little coughs will wake Yennefer, who had helped him raise Ciri before Jaskier entered and still has the mother-instinct and wakes when not all is well.

She'll kick Jaskier awake (gently) and drag on a soft robe to go make some kind of soothing tea. Jaskier will go to Geralt and help him clean up and change. Then steer him back to the kitchen to get tea and some kind of snack. Even if he doesn't want it he has to eat something. Just a piece of fruit or a cookie... Something easy on his throat and that will give him a little boost of sugar.

They'll sit quietly with him, Yen leaning into him and knowing she picked the right robe when he runs his fingers over the sleeve compulsively. The texture keeping him grounded and calm. Jaskier will fix his hair once it's mostly dry, a loose soft braid to sleep in so it won't get stuck under anyone in the night. Press gentle kisses on his neck and shoulders while he works.

When the tea is gone and Geralt is calm enough to sleep they'll usher him to bed gently with kisses and soft touches and curl up on either side of him on the mattress. He doesn't cry much, and he might not cry at all. It might hit him at random the next day.

Or he might break down while he's safe between them in the bed. Yen and Jask trade calling out of work on those rare occasions things go badly. Usually Geralt's job is more CPR than actually entering a burning building. Or pulling people out of car wrecks, getting them out of stuck elevators, that kind of thing.

But all the same, after one of those bad nights one of them stays all day. Sometimes they'll call the school and say Ciri is staying home. If a child dies Geralt always takes it harder and he seems to do better with Ciri in sight. They'll go ride, or work on some leatherwork project they've started together. Yen or Jask, whoever's turn it was to stay, will make sure they remember to come in and eat and drink and rest. They usually try not to involve Ciri but she knows what it means when their home smells of smoke. She isn't stupid.

She tends to act out in school when she's on edge and sometimes it's easier to keep her home than have to deal with her getting detention for a week because she mouthed off. Not to mention the smell of smoke upsets her, she'd lost her birth family and the idea of it happening again is a trigger for her.

Sometimes on those bad days she and Geralt and Y/J end up on the couch under blankets with ice cream and as many terrible silly movies as they can find. Anything that won't make anyone cry. Then things go back to normal and months to years to go by without anything tragic happening.

But when it does, Geralt isn't alone. He has a family that loves him and supports him and gets him through it.


	30. Young Witchers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An idea I may or may not expand. How many wips does one person need? I don't know. But probably not 3.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Child abuse. Hands down. Not particularly graphic, but it's there.

Eskel flopped onto the damp grass and stared at Geralt. "No one can see you're still standing there, you might as well come down."

"They'll see impressions in the grass. Besides it's not so bad."

"I can see you trembling from here. You should have shut your mouth, Geralt."

"Too late to take your advice now."

"Well you have heard it already, and then after they whipped you, you had to pop off again! It's like you want them to half kill you."

"Gets me out of watching your ugly mug in training. And gives all of you a chance to catch up with me."

"Geralt, when they come for you this morning, be quiet. Shut your mouth do you hear me? Let them say whatever they want, kiss their feet like they want, and you can get down off the bloody post and come inside."

"You should be inside asleep."

"So should you."

"Sun's going to be up soon. You should go. Don't let me drag you down with me."

"Just because Vesemir said that doesn't mean that's how I see it. Or any of our yearmates. We know you're damn good with a sword, good with the memorization, Geralt. Without those late night study sessions we had back when they had us all in one room, most of us would have taken far more hidings."

"Still. You'd better go. No point in finding yourself next to me."

"Don't mouth off Geralt. Maybe they'll let you see the healer if you keep your trap shut for once."

"Go."

"I'll see what I can get for food for you."

Geralt's face softened. "Thank you."

When the sun was barely peaking over the horizon they came. Geralt looked up and straightened his bloodied back.

"Come down."

Geralt slowly slipped off the rock, determined not to fall and embarrass himself further. He would maintain control like he'd been taught. He had spent most of the past fifteen hours in meditation. There he could escape the worst of the pain and allow his body to heal. Once down, he carefully walked to stand in front of the masters and let his head bow in deference. Carefully, he clasped his hands behind his aching back.

"It smells like Eskel, did he come out and visit you?"

"We room together, I usually smell like Eskel. Perhaps an extra soap ration would solve that problem. I can't be responsible for his body odor. He also tends to take my shirt, sir, since I wash it more often. Perhaps that's what you smell."

Any inspection of the grass near the wall would show footprints and the imprint of a body. Not to mention the other witcher boy's clothes would still be damp if they went to get him now.

"Do you ever tire of being insolent?" The question seemed idle, the voice carefully bland.

"No sir, I suppose not or we wouldn't all be here, sir," he replied as neutrally as he could. If he could push them they would forget all about his friend. He could protect Eskel, he could not protect himself.

The next thing he knew a hand was knotted in his hair and a knee shoved into his stomach. He was bent over and the belt was hitting skin before he had time to react properly. He was too old to be spanked like this, and they knew it. At least it wasn't in a room full of other boys.

Geralt felt worse for not having even heard the belt being unbuckled or slipped free of the loops. He should have. The rest of it, well, he hadn't mutated enough to be as fast as the training masters. Not yet. The steady slap of the belt against his skin stung, but the aching throb that would come later was sure to be the worst part. Plus having to sit down.

When it was over, he was dropped to the ground without so much as a by your leave. "We expect you out in the ring by the tenth bell. Report to the infirmary. Silently. Or perhaps we should start taking a notch from your tongue every time you use it out of turn."

Geralt just nodded, knowing he didn't have to speak out loud. At least the doddering sorcerer in infirmary would feed him and mostly patch him up. He bit back any rude responses about what he should tell the old healer, exactly, and picked himself up before tugging his clothes back into place.

He kept his face impassive when tucking in his shirt causes him to brush against new welts on his backside. They're supposed to face a new kind of training, the kind meant to 'toughen them up.' which probably meant getting hit until they couldn't stand.

The monster didn't care if you were in pain when you fought it, and if it got past your armor you would have to survive the pain and keep going or die. Better to build a high tolerance early on.

A trip to the infirmary sounds wonderful if Geralt was being honest. He'd get fed, and given some time to rest. He could nap on his stomach and not have to worry about being shamed. He hoped the room would be empty, he'd rather not have to admit he'd been belted like he was still a child in front of another boy.

"Ah, Geralt. Back again I see. When I saw fresh blood on the whipping post I suspected you might have gotten yourself into trouble. Shirt off, let's see the damage." The old healer had debated leaving several times. But if he left who else would treat the boys with kindness? They'd just find another sorcerer who hated healing, and couldn't see why his magics were being wasted on subhumans. Caduceus had felt healing was his calling, and the poor Witchers in training needed him more than most. "What did you do this time, you insolent pup?"

"Knocked down the training master. He was slapping Devos around something fierce and he asked if anyone would challenge him. I didn't wait for him to stop hitting Devos I just jumped in."

"Did he thrash you?"

"No, Vesemir stepped in before he could. Dragged me out and... Well. You see."

"I do. Fairly unsporting to attack a man without warning."

"They train us to use every advantage we can. The master has ten decades more experience than I do. I couldn't hope to win fair. I wasn't even trying to win. Just stop him from breaking Devos' skull," Geralt admitted, feeling stupid. He was angry. Sick of being hurt by people who said Witchers were unfeeling and made to protect. Signs of weakness were beaten out of you until you had nothing left. Geralt just couldn't help himself. Although if they were going to start cutting up his tongue he might have to start. "Master, can you heal tongues?"

"What?" The old man asked, looking over Geralt's back with a practiced eye. "I see you decided to extend your punishment, you might as well just strip. I'll go get the herbs I need."

"Tongues, sir."

"I can't very well grow it back, but I can close up a split. Why? They thinking about making a mute Witcher out of you?"

"I suppose," Geralt sighed, stripping out of the rest of his clothes. He had long since forgotten any kind of shame around the members of the keep. While he would be mortified if the others could see his new welts and bruises, he wouldn't think twice of anyone seeing him nude. He was property, and used to being inspected at any given time. Discipline and obedience were required.

There wasn't room for privacy from each other in the first dorms they lived in at the keep anyway. Eventually, those that lived long enough got moved into rooms that only held four boys, not twenty. And then two. Geralt had made it to the last stage before he would have his own room. He and Eskel shared a living space and had no secrets from each other.

If he survived the final mutations, and passed the rest of his trials, he would receive his medallion and have the right to his own possessions and privacy. He would not have to take another beating outside of a training ring as long as he lived. Until the monsters killed him, anyway. Geralt wasn't honestly sure he would want a room that didn't have Eskel in it. He wasn't sure of his age but Eskel had so far been his only constant. It would hurt to lose that.

The old sorcerer came back with a tray, and started mixing a paste for the still bleeding stripes from the whip. He had something different for the raised welts and deep bruising lower down. "You're still going to sit funny. So try and not do anything stupid for a few days at least. They bruised the muscle."

Geralt's skin twitched when the cool paste was applied to his back. He couldn't help it. He didn't cry out like he wanted to, or allow his eyes to tear. What was done was done. He had made his choice, now he had to live with it.

Once finished, the old man sighed. "I don't want to watch you die, too. Perhaps stop pushing them so much, Geralt. There's enough bodies making up fertilizer around the grounds. Don't let your insolence cause you to be another. Get dressed I'll find you some food. Eat standing will you. What bell are you to be back for?"

"Tenth. It's just rung seventh," Geralt replied as he dragged on his clothes carefully. His body still ached but it no longer burned. If he ate quickly he could sleep for a little over two bells and then take his time getting to training.

"Don't be foolish," the old man reminded him, shuffling off slowly with his tray. He came back later with a bowl of porridge and fruit that Geralt wolfed down hungrily.

He hadn't eaten in near twenty four hours. Meat would not have gone amiss but anything was better than nothing. And he was mostly full by the time he'd finished. Immediately after returning the bowl he dropped face down onto an empty cot and fell asleep.

He roused to the bell and made his way down to the training room.

The boys would line up once they got there, arm's length apart. Geralt chose to move to where the end would be, and was careful not to sit. His body ached from standing on the small stone all night, but sitting would be far worse. As would lying down until his yearmates arrived.

As they trickled in they looked him over for signs of permanent harm. He shrugged a shoulder at them to indicate he was fine. Their training master filed in along with the last few boys to run in. Once this exercise was over, it would be the lunch hour. Then an hour of rest, time meant to be spent studying, and then more formal schoolroom classes for two bells. Then back to physical work for another two, then one bell of chores, dinner, and bed. Up at fifth or sixth bell depending on your training master, and off to run the Killer.

Geralt glanced around. He'd heard about this particular exercise from some of the older boys. It would be unpleasant. What they always said was: don't fall down. If he could stay on his feet no matter what they did, they wouldn't do it again. Or at least, it would be a while.

He had initially hoped it would be something like slapping the water, or punching sand, and one of the other million boring exercises that built muscle memory and callous. When the master picked up a practice sword Geralt just hoped the older Witcher had enough control not to break their bones.

"Arms away from your body, feet in a basic fighting stance. You may move your arms into the stance, but you may not do anything else. Do not attempt to block me or strike. You will not like the consequences."

"Yes sir," they all shouted in unison. There were far less of them than there had been. They'd been twenty to a room to start, one master per group. Now they were less than twenty altogether. Not that there weren't constantly new trainees being brought in, filling their old rooms. And more who would come after those.

They all knew what was coming now.

"If you fall before I am done, we will resume tomorrow in the exact place you fell, and will do so until you can keep your feet."

Those in line tensed, and braced themselves not to watch. The first crack echoed in the room. The boy did not cry out. If he had, Geralt had a feeling the beating wouldn't have stopped until he was unconscious or dead. At this point they all knew how to manage pain without sound. They had learned how to set their own bones, either by breaking them themselves, or if they couldn't do it, a training master did it for them. It was worse if the master did it. Thankfully they were not asked to do more than break fingers or toes. They broke plenty of larger bones on the various training apparatuses around the keep.

Somewhere, Geralt had lost count of the sound of wood on flesh. It was methodical and cold. He risked a look, the other boy was standing firm, even if his arms shook slightly. Shaking was allowed. It was a mostly uncontrollable response to stimulus. It was showing it on your face or with your voice that got you into trouble.

A strike to the knee almost dropped the Witcher boy and he straightened, his breathing still even as sweat poured down his face and neck. Geralt didn't see blood, so at least this wasn't meant to wound. Just hurt. He wasn't sure how he would fair in his weakened state. The master would not go easier on him because of his injuries. If anything he might strike them more, or harder. Let the lesson set in.

Two boys went down and were told to report back after lunch. The others were told to sit. Geralt felt sweat gather along his hairline and drip down his back, stinging the lacerations there. Soon there wouldn't be anyone left between him and that stick. Eskel, thank the mother, had managed. Barely. He'd almost fallen when he had to lift one leg to allow the bottom of his foot to be struck. Geralt had not watched anyone else. Knowing where he would get hit didn't make him feel any better. He felt just embracing the pain would be easiest.

When it was his turn he assumed the loose fighting stance, and told himself if he locked his muscles it would hurt more. The problem was he could not keep his whole body loose. The first blow cracked his skull and he saw stars. The second made his ear sing in pain and he ignored it. He had taken worse in fencing class. Or on the Killer, or the pendulum, or wrestling.

He had also faced more painful slaps from irritated masters. Vesemir had lost his temper a bit and hit him too hard. The healer mage had had to re-root two teeth the cranky fencing master had knocked loose.

This wasn't so bad. The strike across the top of his shoulder didn't break bone. His forearm wasn't fractured. It hurt to be sure. But it was survivable. Which was the point. The strikes to his back made him swallow the urge to scream. He let his body shudder with the pain and forced it to stay in position. He kept his eyes open, watching the man who was hitting him. He would not fall. There would not be a second beating like this after lunch. He would not show how much it hurt.

The strikes across his legs barely phased him, for all the one across his backside ensured that any work the mage had done to ease the pain was erased. He did not puke when the stick swept up between his legs. He had been hit there before, and would be again. It was approved in hand to hand since no one fought clean and your job was to stay alive. They were already sterile, there was nothing to protect.

The hardest task was balancing on one foot after his night spent in the cold standing on the sharp rock post. But while he wobbled, he did not fall.

When it was over, he was allowed to sit, but the sting in his muscles warned him to keep standing. If he did he might let on how much he hurt. He knew his back was bleeding again, but not badly. Instead of sitting, he allowed himself to lean against the stone wall, the smooth, cold surface providing relief to his stinging flesh. He did not care that he left an imprint of blood and sweat behind when the bell rang.

If they made him come back and clean it, he would. All that mattered was that he had not fallen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If I make this into a fic, it will be called Shattered and Hollow. So if you have a way to see what authors are up to if they publish new works, that's what to look for.


	31. Yenralt Fluff

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just domestic-ish comfort.

Yennefer brushed out hair vigorously at the table. She knew Geralt was watching. She did it when he got back on purpose so he could watch. She tried to stay out of his thoughts but when she checked in, his thoughts were a steady stream of pleasure and fascination as he watched. Glad he wasn't bored, he had taken Roach on a day trip just to get out of the house and find something to do.

No monsters to hunt, she knew he was a little restless, never having had this much downtime in his life before.

Once she finished with her hair she stood up from the vanity and glanced at him. "Sit?" She offered him and he got up and dropped himself in the chair, wondering what she wanted. Yennefer took a dab or two of product before lightly rubbing her hands together to spread it before working her hands into his hair. She took her time, stroking his hair from root to end, letting her fingertips massage his scalp as she worked.

A few more dabs of product just went into the ends as she examined them for split ends. He trusted her to snip away as she pleased, knowing she liked his hair long as much as she did. She wouldn't just hack it off.

Satisfied with her work, she put away the little jar and scissors, and continued to smooth and stoke his hair, knowing how much he loved it. Gently, she twisted it up and held it away from his neck so she could kiss the back and sides, slow and gentle, smiling as as he tipped his chin up to allow her easier access. She stepped to his side and released her hold on his hair to kiss him better. He made her squeak slightly as he pulled her into his lap to hold her as they kissed, one hand coming up to tangle in her hair.

When she pulled away, his eyes were half closed and he was far less antsy. Smiling, she blew out the lamp, trusting him to make sure they both got into bed without incident.

Geralt led her carefully, his calloused hand warm and gentle against hers. They crawled into bed together, seeking out comfort and warmth as they worked to settle in. Yennefer started with her head on his chest but it didn't last long. By the time they were ready to sleep, he was curled around her, an arm around her middle and another under the pillow and also curled up against her chest. She smiled when he slid a leg between hers, tangling their bodies as close as he could.

Geralt breathed deeply, happily surrounded by her scent and warmth as he slid into sleep, smiling softly when he felt her place one of her hands over his, interlacing their fingers. It was so rare anyone wanted him close, and even rarer that he felt safe indulging in that kind of casual intimacy. His last thought before he drifted off was that this; being with her, curled around her, was what love felt like.

Her last thought was his, and her lips curved in silent agreement.

They slept deeply and comfortably late into the morning, just as pleased to wake up in each other's arms as they were to fall asleep in the same manner.


	32. Yenralt H/C

She stared for a moment and then beckoned him in. He had something clenched in his fist and she didn't even try to pry it free. His thoughts were a swirling mess she couldn't hope to decipher and so she didn't try.

Instead, she found him fresh clothes, summoned water for a bath, and helped him out of first his armor, then his clothes. She watched him step into the bath, numb to the world around him. His fingers never loosened their grip on whatever he was holding.

Once his hair was white again, and his skin clean, he stepped out of the bath and looked around, lost. She handed him a towel and sighed when he didn't make a move to use it. So she toweled him off, helped him dress in clean clothes, and pulled him into bed with her.

"I was too late to save him," he finally said, voice strangled. "I just walked in on it, I didn't know he had a contract, I didn't ... I saw him die and I was too slow to do a damn thing about it."

Rather than answer, she let his grief sweep him away, shaking his entire body with unshed tears. If she did anything to comfort him, he would close himself off. Instead, she waited. Finally, tears soaked into her nightgown, and his breathing started to hitch and stutter as he fought down sobs.

She knew he didn't remember how to cry. Not really. Couldn't relax himself enough to let his grief out in the way he desperately needed to. But there was nothing she could do to change that other than sit there with him, and wait it out. He had sought her out specifically, she knew. He knew she wouldn't push him, wouldn't try and force him to respond in any specific way. She would let him be. Let him take his time and collect himself until he was ready to move on.

Even after a bad fight, he could come back to her if the situation was sufficiently awful enough, and they would push their differences aside. She would supply a place to heal, and he would supply his love and affection without reserve. In turn, he would get far more than a safe place to stay: he would get a loving one.

After something like that, he couldn't go back to the keep. Grieving was seen as weak, and utterly useless. Rather than finding solace he would find more guilt and abuse in turns. There was no comfort to be found in the crumbling ruins. Just more pain.

He could have turned to his friend, but he wouldn't have been heard. Not truly. The pain he felt would be dismissed. Not validated the way he desperately needed it to be. 'You always say death is behind you. Why bother being so fussed about it when it happens, then?' 'You can't have it both ways, do you have feelings or not?'

So he had gone to her. While her tempestuous nature meant he would only find safe haven for so long before he was driven away, he would have it long enough to piece himself back together. She was both the port in the storm and the hurricane itself.

She waited while he cried himself out. If what he did could even truly be called crying. It was enough for him, to let himself feel the grief and to feel comforted by her presence. He might leave in the morning, or a week from then, she didn't know. But she would never ask him about what he'd seen. Never push him to tell her. He almost always did, without any prompting on her part. It just depended on how long it took him to realize he needed to drain the poison out so he could go on.

He slept in the circle of her arms, head on her chest, twin trails of grief marking his face.

In the morning, he flexed his cramped hand and let the medallion drop free of his bloodied palm. The blunt edges had been forced through flesh and held for hours.

Yennefer looked at it and the dried blood coating his palm. She cleaned and dressed the wound without a word. She lifted the medallion from the bed, and when Geralt didn't protest, she cleaned it, too. Then slipped it over his head to sit on top of his own medallion. A kiss was pressed to his cheek and she stood up to change.

He watched as she started to apply cosmetics and brush out her black curls, enjoying the play of the sunlight over them as they bounced and swung from the comb running through them. His bandaged hand reached up to touch the second medallion and his heart squeezed. She looked back at him and he shook his head.

When she was done, she led him down to breakfast. He knew she was waiting for him to tell her something. Explain what had happened, or decide if he was leaving or staying. He had no words and no amount of water or tea was able to loosen his tongue or ease his throat.

Late in the evening, in the library, in front of the hearth, he told her what had happened as best he could. How he had stumbled upon a contract not knowing one of his yearmates had already taken it. He had followed the monster and come upon the fight just in time to see his friend die. While he had killed the monster, his friend had bled out. Geralt had barely had time to gather him up and hold him as he breathed his last.

Perhaps Witchers weren't supposed to feel. It would have been easier if they didn't. But he did. And he felt the loss of one of his fellows deeply.

Grief consumed him again, dragging him under an ocean of pain. He gave into it a second time, face pressed into her skirts, one hand intertwined with hers. There were so few of them left. And even fewer he had grown to maturity with.

Her acceptance and utter lack of judgement was a balm that eased his raw heart. He would return the medallion to the keep. Then he would wander as he pleased, until he felt less lost.

They went to bed, after, and he slept easier, knowing his pain would never be put on display or used against him. It would be kept quiet, ignored, even respected. It would be a shared but secret burden, lightening the load between them.

There was no place better for him to be.

After all, they loved each other, when all was said and done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No, the dead witcher isn't one of the named ones. I just assumed more than Geralt and Eskel initially survived and it would hurt him to lose other friends.


	33. 2 Part Drabble Game 27

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hi! For the Two-part Drabble Game situation 27 with sentence 27 für gerlion, please! Have a nice day!
> 
> Reuniting after time apart + you're adorable

Geralt perhaps regretted spending the winter in Kaedwen, up in the keep. Thankful when the passes finally cleared, he led Roach down the mountain paths and towards Aedirn. He hoped to meet Dandelion on the road somewhere between Oxenfurt and Vengerberg. While he perhaps wouldn't admit it, he was pleased at the idea of seeing his old friend.

He hoped Dandelion would be as pleased to see him, but he had a feeling the bard would miss a great deal of his creature comforts at the college. Nothing Geralt could offer would match that. Perhaps the poet wouldn't show.

The longer he traveled south the more doubts he had. He just couldn't believe that Dandelion would be there waiting for him. They hadn't agreed on an exact tavern or inn... Dandelion's reputation proceeded him and Geralt's did, too. It shouldn't be that hard so long as they came close ...

Until finally Geralt passed by a town still speaking of how some bard had played a wedding and had flirted with several attendees. Thankfully there was also a contract in the town over, so Geralt was able to make some coin before running into the bard. Supposedly the wedding entertainer had read the contract and gone off to the town to wait.

**

Geralt stumped out of the forest, griffin head bagged and dragging behind him. He was splattered in blood and muck. Unfortunately the damn thing had knocked him into some kind of marshy spot before he'd killed it. Then it had fallen ON him, coating him in blood and offal as it died.

Weary, he tied the head to Roach's saddle and walked her towards the town, and hopefully his coin and a bath.

Once the head is dropped off, the contract fulfilled and the coin tied to his belt, and Roach is stabled safely, he heads to the nearest bathhouse. bathhouse just to bump into a man and almost send them both into the muck. "Fuck."

"Excu- Geralt? Is that you under all that?" Dandelion asked, starting to laugh. "Oh look at you. Don't make that face at me, it's never scared me and it won't start now. Scary witcher grimaces hold no power over me. Oh I'd hug you but you're such a mess."

"Fuck off, bard," Geralt said affectionately. Although he glared again when the laughter didn't stop as Dandelion began to walk with him.

"Oh what? Why the glare now? I can't help but smile seeing you. I mean, look at you, you're adorable. Covered in Melitele knows what, your hair is pink -from blood I know, very fierce- and I can see your eyes standing out so clearly in your face because that's the only part of you not covered in muck."

The bard shrieked when Geralt made as if to hug him or rub some of the filth onto his doublet and Geralt laughed.

Dandelion kept Geralt company as he scraped the filth off himself and sent his clothes to be washed. He even waited as Geralt soaked happily in the hot pools, his aching body eased by the heat.

Finally, when he ran out of patience, he leaned over and suggested something that would have made Geralt turn red if he could have blushed. He gave Dandelion an almost frazzled look and dried, changed, and followed the bard back to the room he'd been staying in. They were glad to find out the owners of the house, friends of Dandelion's, were out for the time being.

They used their time well, getting thoroughly reacquainted with each other.


	34. Two Part Drabble Game 15 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the Two Part Drabble game, how about 15 - Someone is jealous/hurt, and 19 - “What? No, I never said that…” for Geralt and Jaskier? You write them very well. :)

"What? Geralt!" The bard stamped his foot. "I never said that!" Absolutely infuriated at how determined Geralt was to misunderstand him, he would have hit the witcher if it would have helped.

Nonplussed, Geralt looked up at the stars from his bedroll. "Actually, if I recall, that's exactly what you said," he reproved his friend mildly. "You said, did you not, that it was 'fit for a witcher and not much else's?"

"Fine, that's what I said but not what I meant!"

"Then what did you mean? Or is this meant to be another of those conversations where you intend to tell me my utter stupidity means I can't understand? Or that my soul lacks poetry, and thus, I can't understand?"

"Geralt," Jaskier said softly, feeling guilty. "I... I suppose I have said all those things, haven't I? And you've stood by me in spite of it. I'm sorry."

"Hmm," Geralt had heard apologies before. No one ever really meant them. "It's in your nature," he said by way of granting forgiveness. Not that he had. He was still deeply hurt.

"It's a stupid turn of phrase. One I won't use again. And I suppose I should stop acting like you're less than just because you haven't gone to Oxenfurt. I'm sure I'll slip up, but you're usually quite capable of calling me on it. I shan't expect you to stop now."

"You don't listen when I do," Geralt told him guardedly. He had never once had the upper hand in one of these arguments before and he had no intention of letting himself lose the advantage.

"I have been remiss," Jaskier said softly, watching the witcher's eyes widen in surprise. The way his lips parted slightly, shock painting his features in the firelight. "You are one of my truest friends and I often forget how easy it is to hurt the ones you love."

"I'm a witcher, Jaskier, you'll find I'm not easy to hurt."

"Not physically, no." Now that the fight was over Jaskier shifted from his seat across the fire and sat next to Geralt. The witcher rolled slightly onto his side, presenting the bard with most of his back. Rather than allow Geralt to shut him out he gently ran a hand from the top of Geralt's spine down to his waist. He used smooth even strokes, and smiled when Geralt rolled onto his stomach to make it easier. Jaskier shifted closer, and used both hands to run the heels of his palms up either side of Geralt's spine and dragged his fingertips back down. "Words cut you far worse than any sword, don't they?"

Geralt tensed, twisting back just enough to glare. "Words can't hurt anyone."

"You know that's not true," Jaskier pressed gently. He worked his hands up to Geralt's shoulders again, finding the same knots he always did, and began to dig into the taut muscles. "Plenty of people live and die by the words of others. Words hold all kinds of power. You know that as well as anyone. My point is, I know it well and yet can be utterly thoughtless when I speak. I will endeavour to hurt you less."

Geralt grunted in discomfort when the bard found an especially sensitive spot and Jaskier backed off of it to massage the surrounding muscle instead.

"Why?" Geralt asked after a while, glad his face was turned into his bedding.

"Why what?"

"Why care about my feelings all of a sudden? Not that witchers have -"

"Feelings?" Jaskier interrupted. "Yes you do. You're the only one who seems to think differently. I haven't met anyone else who thinks they're gone. But to answer your question... It's because I love you. And I find I do a poor job showing it, at times."

Geralt went rigid under his hands. "You willingly spend time with me. Touch me without fear," he swallowed hard. "That's more than I could have ever expected." That's plenty. Jaskier doesn't need to try and speak kindly to him like he's a child.

"About the touching... We... I... I would like to do more than touch your back. If you would allow it. Enjoy it. Actually. I would.... Yes, I would like to do more than follow around behind you. I think I haven't misread the signs. Although you are notoriously difficult to read, so I suppose I could have made a mistake-"

Geralt sat up and put a hand over Jaskier's mouth, overwhelmed by the words and needing them to stop. But he hadn't felt telling the poet to shut up was going to work the way he wanted it to, but his mind was blank of anything kinder. Jaskier stopped speaking and watched him, and Geralt let his hand drop away in embarrassment.

"I...." His voice came out in a hoarse croak and then he nodded, unable to speak. The bard just stared in confusion and so Geralt reached up and cupped his cheek before barely ghosting a kiss over his lips.

Jaskier's heart began to hammer in his chest as he realized what Geralt was trying to tell him. He leaned in carefully, determined for once, to go slow, and kissed Geralt gently. When the witcher melted into him, he knew he'd made the right choice.


	35. Two Part Drabble Game 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 10 from the situations with geralt and yen?
> 
> Near death experience? And no 2nd part chosen. Okay. :) (Gonna try and keep it short. Feel free to ask again if I did it wrong. Or include the quote you wanted and I'll try and redo it)

He fell into her arms, pulling her close. He looked her over after a second pulling back to grip her by the upper arms. While her curls were mussed and bloodied, the blood didn't seem to be hers. He ran his hands over her body while she waited patiently for him to be done. She knew he wouldn't calm himself until he knew she was alright and no words on her part would do to convince him. He had to see for himself.

"You're alright," he told her, voice heavy with relief.

"And you are not," she told him dryly. Cool hands ran along his cheekbones and over his jaw, soothing him. "Let's get out of here, shall we?" She suggested, slipping an arm around his middle.

"Not a portal Yen," he groaned.

"Mine are safe. You know that. Besides I can see things on your outside that should be in your inside. Don't fuss." Her voice was oddly calm, as she did her best to hide the strain and fear.

"Where to?" He gritted his teeth in anticipation of the cold nothingness.

"Ellander, I think temple healers will be best for this," she informed him as she held out a steady hand and a portal formed before them. The darkness overtook him and he knew no more.

**

Geralt shifted on the bed with a grunt of pain. He was wrapped in stiff tight bandaging from hips to shoulder. "Yennefer?" He croaked in surprise. The sorceress was asleep, his hand in both of hers, her body slumped forward on his sickbed. "Yen?" He tried again, his voice weak.

"Geralt? Oh thank Melitele, you're awake," her eyes glittered with unshed tears. Standing, she leaned over him and kissed his forehead, then his cheek, and then his lips. "You idiot," she snapped.

"You weren't so angry earlier," he told her weakly, dazed.

"I thought you were dying, you insufferable bastard. I didn't want the last thing you heard to be an angry voice!"

"So I take it I'm going to live?" He raised a brow.

"Not if you mock me," she threatened, kissing him again. "Don't ever do that again!" She punctuated each word with another kiss.

"I can't exactly promise that," he tried to sit up and fell back to the bed with a groan.

"You had better! What were you thinking stepping in front of me like that?!"

"That I loved you. And I heal faster."

"If you'd have healed at all if that claw had gone in one inch deeper! I could have protected myself!" She kisses him again, stroking his hair fondly. "I love you, too. Now stop trying to sit up. I'll get you some water and tell Nenneke you're awake. I suspect she'll also have something to say to you about your decisions as of late."

He blanched slightly and did his best to lie very still as Yennefer left the room, calling for the priestess.


	36. Two Part Drabble Game 13 28

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the Two Part Drabble game: 13 - Someone does something stupid, and 28 - “If I kissed you right now, what would you do?” Geralt and Dandelion. If you please?

Geralt glared at Dandelion, utterly unsympathetic to how hard the bard was breathing.

"Can't you ever control yourself?" Geralt snapped at him. "Just once I should like to not find myself driven out of a town because of you!"

"Better me than because of the fact you're a witcher, isn't it?"

"What? Perhaps I just wish you didn't always do something stupid when I could have had a bed and decent meal for once. It's as if you do it on purpose," Geralt grimaced.

"Geralt, humans aren't meant to go without touch. Or kisses. Or physical contact or sex. A human could die from not being kissed enough, don't you know?"

"Hmm," the witcher sighed. Obviously another ridiculous lie. "No one died from not being kissed enough or all the whores in all the brothels would all be dead."

"That's rather bleak. And a very depressing way to prove a point Geralt. Goodness. Well, I mignt not die from it, but I ache for it, I long for it. All of it. Being wanted. Wanting in return. I don't know how you can go so long without it."

Another grunt. Because no one wants to touch a witcher. No one wants to bed one. Or if they do it's for the novelty and sometimes he'll take it and sometimes it sets his teeth on edge that's why. "Don't get enough to get addicted in the first place. I shudder to think what you would be like if you'd developed a fondness for fisstech."

"Geralt, surely you haven't had a dry spell since Yennefer....?"

"I'm not human, it doesn't bother me," he shrugs. His hand works fine. Even if he would rather it was someone else's. Or someone else's lips. "If you need to be kissed that badly then come over here," he joked. That should put an end to things.

Dandelion walked over to him, stepped into his space and Geralt found he had no where to go. He glanced at the poet's cornflower blue eyes and swallowed hard.

"What would you do if I kissed you right now?"

Geralt stared for a moment then grinned. "As if you would," he lightly shoved the bard's shoulder and stepped to the side.

"I'm serious," Dandelion stepped into his space again. "What would you do?"

He licked his lips and stared again. "Kiss back I suppose, wasn't that what I offered you? If it will stop the whining."

"You were joking earlier, when you said that. But," the bard rests a hand on Geralt's shoulder, leaning into his space. "I think some part of you hoped."

"You're stupid," Geralt informed him. "I don't hope for anything. Other than a bed. A bath, and a meal I didn't have to kill and skin myself. Anything more is unnecessary." But he didn't pull away.

"Shall I kiss you?"

"Will it shut you up?"

"Perhaps," Dandelion smiled. He leaned in slowly, and held himself away for a moment, unsurprised when Geralt tipped his chin just enough to bring their lips together briefly for a chaste kiss. So gentle it could have been the brush of a feather.

Geralt pulled away and shrugged. "There, now you've had that." His heart normally beat four times slower than a normal man's. Right after kissing Dandelion he wasn't so sure that was true. It might only be two times slower but it almost hurt. He shifted his hips, trying to be subtle. Dandelion had reeked of lust since the town so Geralt knew it had nothing to do with him. Missing out on his latest round of sexcapades had left him wanting.

"Oh, ooh no, that isn't anywhere near enough," Dandelion smiled, well aware of Geralt's discomfiture. "No, humans need several moments of contact." He stepped in again, pressing his body against Geralt's and smiling broader when he finds the witcher aroused.

That hardly means anything. If Geralt claims to be so unused to being touched that he never misses it, he would react to anything then. He sobers. "If you'd like, I'll step away. I realize I've chased you twice and pressed you."

Geralt's throat is dry and he licks his lips, trying to find an answer. There isn't one. The bard had been soft and warm and his lips gentle and the witcher hadn't expected to want more. He'd thought it would be a curiosity ended. Of course, his body had betrayed that he wanted more. He'd heard enough people screaming the poet's name -not always with threats directly after. Sometimes with a string of mumbled high unintelligible words that sounded suspiciously like "ohyespleasemorejustlikethat" instead.

They stare at each other and Dandelion dropped his hand from Geralt's shoulder.

"Take what you need," Geralt finally managed to choke out.

"That doesn't sound much like you want me to kiss you," he pointed out. "I don't want to take anything at all. Just share. But that's up to you if you want it or not."

"I...I..." His voice faltered. "What would you do if I kissed you right now?"

"Bear you down to our bedrolls and kiss you until we were both completely satiated and drunk on the feel of each other. Provided you were amenable," Dandelion answers promptly. "Oh. And stroke your hair as I kiss you. And cup your cheek, run my hands over your arms and back, and if invited perhaps also your-"

His words were cut off when Geralt stepped back in and kissed him lightly. Dandelion hummed in pleasure, and proceeded to follow through on all that he'd said and more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to hmu on tumblr @stressedspidergirlsfandomblog and request your own prompts. :} I had fun with these.

**Author's Note:**

> I live for comments.  
> Toss a comment to your writer?


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